In my mind, of course, a countless number of jobs I wanted danced around and around. On days with continuing newsflashes because of a big accident, such as an airplane crash, I wanted to be an announcer; when looking at the big chalkboard hanging in my mother’s study, I wanted to be a teacher; on days with a clear sky, I wanted to be a journalist; when the wind blew, I wanted to be a stage actor. But I could not talk to anyone about these jobs. No one would think such jobs were possible for me. Desire had a wicked habit of not knowing its place, and trying to go beyond that.
