Cold

I feel cold, not particularly because it's winter, but also because I feel cold inside. And I fear about ever going back to this island and ever mention this sad place in my rest of life. I feel pain in my bone, because I always have to carry something heavy or something troublesome. My hands are still grubby with dirt, lie, and shame that can never be washed out. My feet are hurt because I was forced to wearing uncomfortable boots and trapped inside without freedom. For me, this place is only served to torture young people both mentally and physically with excessive government power. Even worst, the very kind of volunteers is the kind with poor economic condition, broken family, or social disorder. In the result, this environment is filled with violence and it spread like a disease. I’m tired of this, but the end is still far away.