Three months later, I had lost so much weight that I was unrecognizable.The humid air of this small southern town clung to my skin. The single room I rented was on the sixth floor, and there was no elevator.Every day as I climbed the stairs, I had to hold on to the wall to catch my breath.A mirror hung behind the door, and I looked at the person in it. I saw short and messy hair, prominent cheekbones, and two dark circles under my eyes.I did not recognize myself.The landlord, Mr. Maison, was a nice guy. Seeing me take on translation jobs every day, he often had his wife bring me a bowl of soup.“Young man, don’t push yourself too hard,” he would say.I would thank him and go back to typing on my computer.My sleeping pills went from one a night to two. Eventually, I needed three just to scrape together a few hours of sleep.My dreams were filled with the winds of the Fopi Desert. They blew so hard that they stung my face.Whenever I woke up, my pillow would be wet.That
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