I remember thinking it was everything. All the things I did related to it. I was so good at it that I was so proud, and one can say differently. And I made use of it, turned it into a tool, showed it to everyone, left it there like a trophy, and forever look at it, staying still. Now I just stop reading a book about it, and I feel guilty. When somebody has suddenly asked me about it, I have read a few words and then put it away. There is nothing to feel about it anymore. I think my mother thinks of me that way.