I would be sitting by the toilet and hear someone say, “Oh, my stomach.” The person would make his way to the toilet in quick short steps. As soon as he exposed his bottom, the diarrhea would come shooting out. Because I was next to the toilet I was o.en splashed. Even during the night, when everyone was asleep, sometimes someone would have abdominal pain. When I heard people yelping in pain as they were being stepped on, I would know that someone was making his way to the toilet and I would get up and press myself against the corner. And if I were asleep and did not hear him coming, I would su"er the consequences. In order to endure this impossible situation, I even tried to think of these sights and sounds as some form of art.

       Still I kept the spot by the toilet as my own during the entire time.

       “Why do you choose to stay there?” other prisoners would ask.

       I would answer, “!is is where I feel most comfortable.”

       I wasn’t just saying this. !is was, indeed, the place where my heart felt most at ease.

       My prisoner number was 596. People called me “Number five nine six.” On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I would stare at the ceiling and repeat this number to myself over and over. If I said it quickly, it sounded very much like eo-gul, the Korean word used to describe the feeling of injustice. I truly had been imprisoned unjustly.