I’d wake up at midnight and ride my bike—a red Giant—to a nearby store where I’d buy dried noodles, thick pork soup, and spring rolls. Then I’d come home and read while I ate. Take a shower, do laundry. In my room, there was neither the sound of another human being nor light. I’d write in my journal all night, or just read. I became obsessed with Kierkegaard and Schopenhauer. I devoured all kinds of books for tortured souls.
