Trying to define the undefinable.

I felt like my mere existence was implicitly condemned in every bureaucratic environment I entered. I remember how I was defined—an act of reduction, and thus humiliation—to others with terms that I detest by my parents: “stubborn,” “uncompromising,” “antisocial,” and so on. On paper, though, I was wonderful: “successful,” “self-confident,” “family-loving,” and the like. I remember reading the remark: “It would be good if you helped our child integrate into society.” I also remember that I was obliged to deliver this paper to the authorities with my own hands. And finally, I remember crossing out such writings and “correcting” them each time, so that, because of my personal traits, I would not “draw too much suspicion” and be taken into the interrogation room. That is how life continued—inside me, behind or under the bushes. And none of them ever learned that my “silentness,” my “stubbornness,” and my “arrogance” were not part of my natural personality, but rather old allies—voluntary and dutiful—used to fight the outside world. Why did I direct the arrows outward instead of at myself? Because I've been too aware and too proud in this awareness since birth to attempt blaming myself for even a brief moment.