I'm So Used To Being Misunderstood.

One Day I Was Living Silently In A Personal Hell, Without Anyone To Tell What I Felt, Without Even Knowing That The Feelings I Had Were Possible To Have; And Then One Day I Was Not Living Like That At All. I Had Begun To See The Past Like This: There Is A Line; You Can Draw It Yourself, Or Sometimes It Gets Drawn For You; Either Way, There It Is, Your Past, A Collection Of People You Used To Be And Things You Used To Do. Your Past Is The Person You No Longer Are, The Situations You Are No Longer In.

I Didn't Think Of Myself As An Outsider Because Of My Race Because... Where I Grew Up I Was The Same Race As Almost Everyone Else... It Is True That I Noticed Things That No One Else Seemed To Notice. And I Think Only People Who Are Outsiders Do This.

Express Everything You Like. No Word Can Hurt You. None. No Idea Can Hurt You. Not Being Able To Express An Idea Or Word Will Hurt You More. Like A Bullet.

I've Written A Book About My Mother, And I Don't Remember Anyone Going To Antigua Or Calling Up My Mother And Verifying Her Life. There Is Something About This Book That Drives People Mad With The Autobiographical Question.

Of Course, Every Time I End A Book, I Look Down At Myself And I'm Just The Same. I'm Always Disappointed That I'm Just The Same, But Not Enough To Never Do It Again!