• Create a portrait of a day/week.
• Try to experiment with narrative and form.
• Try to consider the issues to do with identity.

It was bright. The light filled the whole room. Looks like a nice day, no, a nice morning, because you do not know how long this sunshine could last in this city. Could be a day, half day, an hour or half an hour...Just like my mood every morning.

During the day, I control my emotion and adjust my sentiment, which usually work well most of the time. No matter it is fear, confusion, grief, sense of loss or any feeling that even myself could not describe, apart from I know it is not good, not right.

At the moment of opening my eyes every morning, I lack this ability to control and refrain. Having been through a whole night of self-deprecating and recovery from disordered images of the endless dreams, the minute of my waking up every morning usually is consumed with the feeling of loss and dread.

Lying there in bed, with my eyes just opened, the ceiling I was staring at was still white. The plainest but also the colour of most possibility and plasticity. "I need a moment." I was telling myself as I did every morning. I could feel my brain was struggling to wake up. The engine inside my brain just lost its mojo since the day I realised how helpless I was toward the decision I had made. This first moment I needed every morning is for me to remove the rust off my engine in mind, the rust it gathered from last night's "sleep". Sometimes it's nanosecond; sometimes it had to be ten minutes. As anyone could imagine, the former normally led to an adjusted good mood to start a day; the latter, a bad one, the natural one.

I sat up in bed, moving my gazing from the ceiling to the window. I saw the green. The green leaves were glimmering in the morning sunshine. "Every moment, good or bad, you experience in your life shall not be in vain. That's all the progression of your life." I told myself and decided it should not be a gloomy day at the same time.

My day started.