THE MERE THOUGHT OF RECOGNIZING MY OWN IDENTITY SHAKES ME AS IF GUILT AND FEAR GREET MY EMOTIONS WITH BLACK AND WHITE IMAGES OF PRACTICING LIBERTY DISGUISED AS AN ACT TABOO IN A DARK ROOM. I HAVE MASTERED THE ART OF MANUAL LABOR WITH HEIGHTENED SENSES; MY VISION SHARPENS AND MY WEARY HANDS STAY STEADY AS I WATCH MY TRUTH UNFOLD.