In the city, I wake bolt upright in the small hours, convinced that intruders are marauding through our apartment despite Swiss bank-style security arrangements.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.
I wish I could avoid the people who have threatened me. My favorite threat is that I will be thrown in the River Miljacka, which is at most knee-deep, with my feet bound in cement.
I can't say that I knocked on every door, but the few that I did didn't respond the way I wanted them to, so I think it was kind of disenchanting enough for me to go back to being subterranean.
Too often, the opportunity knocks, but by the time you push back the chain, push back the bolt, unhook the two locks and shut off the burglar alarm, it's too late.
My security is assured everywhere, and at any moment.
I never knew how protective I was until I had my own child. I'm already thinking about intruders coming into the house and what our escape route would be.
I sleep with my gun on my bedside table. I live alone; it is my protection and makes me feel safer.
In an earthquake, I shouldn't run out of the house - I should run into it.
My security comes from my senses, my sensing the direction I should go and suddenly I felt out of tune, out of step with what other people wanted or what other people expected of me.
We build buildings which are terribly restless. And buildings don't go anywhere. They shouldn't be restless.