Hello Ester (Morning, Day 6)

I woke up early this morning, before sunrise. I had a terrible headache, possibly because of last night's wine, although I doubt it as it was a fine wine and I hadn't really drunk that much anyway. Perhaps it was because I stayed up late writing to you because I could also feel my eyes stinging when I woke up. But more important was the fact that as I wrote, I remembered and relived those days. In one's youth, one can withstand the most trying and terrible events – war, revolution, assassinations and death – but now simply thinking about them is an ordeal for me. It seems I am still reeling from my writing, which perhaps explains the patchy, disjointed dreams I kept having last night. The past is not just a collection of memories but our very lives, nourished by the present and staying with us till we breathe our last. Yes, I know that those without a past have neither a present nor freedom but I often wish I did not have the past that I have. I often, to myself, quietly wish I had not experienced the pain and the torments that I have, that I had not lived the life I have, and last night, I felt those same pangs of regret again. But one must not surrender. One must not give up. No matter how hard it is, or how distressing, I will keep on writing to you, and I won't stop, not until they finally kill me or lock me up to rot in a cell. I shall keep on writing down my memories, even though I know you may never read any of these letters and that you may simply rip them up without even bothering to open them.

The only thing keeping me alive is the need to write to you. And that is why, like an athlete readying himself for competition, I do not have the luxury of relaxing. I cannot and must not be discouraged by headaches, stomachaches or weariness. That is the attitude with which I woke up this morning. I had a glass of water, which helped refresh me, but I still did not feel like going downstairs so I had breakfast sent up to my room.