DAY 1: I woke up today with fog clouding my brain, which took a couple of minutes to lift. I can’t believe I’m her property now, her prisoner. If only I could escape…

She is trying her best to make me feel comfortable. At least, as comfortable as one can be, given the circumstances. For example, she fed me traditional food from my home country. When I smelled it, if I closed my eyes, I could be transported back to my own kitchen, watching my father whip something up on the stove. But the food doesn’t make up for my freedom.

DAY 50: I want to smell the wind on my chest, feel waves lap at my feet. Instead, I am stuck here in this dingy cellar. She claims it is for the best, but how can she expect me to believe her? All I dream of is freedom. The closest I get are the meals she brings me. When I close my eyes, I can just faintly remember the way my home used to smell. Here, plunged in complete darkness, imagination and memories are my sole companions.

DAY 100: I wonder what would happen if I were to be released. Would I even remember how to function? It would probably take days for my eyes to adjust to the light. She says it is not worth hoping for, and that I would only be disappointed. She says freedom is overrated. I want to believe her, but I feel this tug at my throat that is telling me to scream and yell and jump and cry out and force her to let me go. Something tells me freedom is worth it. The food she brings me no longer reminds me of home, for I have forgotten what home even is. It is a foreign idea to me. On my good days, I can differentiate some of the spices she uses, but on the bad days…

DAY 175: I cannot believe my luck! She says she does not need me anymore and has let me go! As soon as I step out into the green grass I am showered in the golden glow of what I remember to be sunlight. I laugh as I imagine how pale I must be, squinting in the brightness of it all. I remind myself of my dream. Sniff the wind. So I do, and it smells like…nothing. I don’t smell anything at all. I wander about and nothing tickles my senses like it used to. Maybe she was right. At least I knew my way around the darkness. Here, in the light, I am completely lost.