Nowadays I’m strangely allergic to things that make me feel sad. Play me some new age music and I’ll recoil in absolute horror, as if possessed. Read me poems of lost love and I’ll snigger and curse. Stuck in a situation where there exists collective grief, I’llfold my arms and assume tasteless apathy. I just think I’m better than them all. I’m freed, yet locked in freedom.

But this jail cell is much larger than the former. Its as large as the universe.