October 24, 2013 (Thursday)

The morning of last Monday before Hulliung's paper was due, I found running late for the 10 am class. Then, a voice calling my name caught up with me. It was Phillip in his car. He drove me to campus. We small-talked.

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I had a dream last night. I, wearing my elementary school self, was sobbing and yelling at my father. 

“我不知道这些作文写来做什么。同样的题材我写了两遍却重来没有经验。事情发生时才发现所有真实的情感都耗费在堆砌这些虚拟文字了。生命都被架空了！”

Then father teared up. 

Of course, 'father' was the projection of my adult self.