I just talked to my mother about my longing heart. Everything in my life lately is about the longing to go, not toward someplace, but from here. About the longing to find God not in a place where God's name has been stained with prejudice and extremity and fanaticism. About the longing to escape from the suffocating reality of a "dry, yeastless factuality".

Sometimes I wonder if she regrets having let me study at the faculty of humanities. I wonder if she regrets having let me read all the books I've read. But my world has become so small; it's trapping me inside. It has become so limited. I am chained to my own life.

Hence, I live many lives. I acquaint myself with great books because

A great book should leave you with many experiences, and slightly exhausted at the end. You live several lives while reading. (William Styron)

 I am so at a point of no return.