I started the year at my desk, swotting diligently at my studies. After a few months, my desk lamp died inexplicably. I moved out into the dining room, spreading out over the table, and then migrated to the sofa. I am now sprawled out in front of the sliding door by the balcony, papers scattered amidst a variety of odds and ends. It now seems to me that my many shifts in position have all been part of a prolonged, subconscious attempt to escape, a stretching towards freedom.