Perhaps, ı used to like it, although it lives in my soul. Maybe ı enjoy the thing that
lives in there. When ı strived to escape from it, ı realized, when ı happen without it,
ı felt void of my identity. As if ı was in danger, or as ıf ı hadn't got the answers for
some easier questions. ı looked as though ı had been rush hours and ı looked like
a person who doesn't have a personal discipline. The ego has stolen my identity
which must give back all of them. I won't be miserable, if the death of ego is real,
even when ı was waiting for the end of the wold, I want to able to say, "I hope, I
can survive as well today."






