I spent my time painting in the tiny room nearby the gate or painting in my room at home -close to the memories of my shattered dreams. I repainted almost all I had, and when I had been done, I was thinking of doing the same thing again. When all that seriousness and dreaming went aside, I enjoyed actually doing it. I caught myself in a circle. I felt that I was good enough to leave my hometown and do it somewhere else. That notion was closely followed by the knowledge of being unable to achieve it. Then, my self-esteem packed its belongings, such as: courage and hope, and left me. After ignoring all that, I found myself painting something again, and the self-esteem returned. The circle continued almost every week again.
One day, when I returned home, inconceivably exhausted from the trip
