那天，我有一种凄美的感觉，就像早期的哀悼。我最珍爱的东西像田间花一样被压碎，被夷为平地，为井园的花园腾出了空间。即使我在美国学习时，我也尝试过这样的事情。在这些年中，我一直坚持我的家，我的国家出现在我身上，每次我想要的时候我都可以回去。只有当我最终回来时，我才理解流放的真正含义。走上我爱和记住的那些道路，这是我自己践踏我的回忆的。
(That day I had a poignant feeling, like an early mourning. What I had most dear had been crushed like a field of field flowers, razed to the ground to make room for a well -kept garden. Not even when I studied in the United States I had ever tried anything like that. In all those years I had kept me firmly clinging to the certainty that my home, my country appeared to me, and I could go back every time I wanted. And it was only when I finally returned that I understand the true meaning of exile. Walking for those roads I loved and remembered with so much affection, it was as myself trampling my memories.)