Finally, on July 11, 1978, they transferred me to the residential zone of notorious Camp 36, a strict regime camp. It is impossible to convey my feelings as I crossed the entry gate from the ShIZO barrack where I had been quarantined into the camp.

I remember it vividly: this was not the beginning of a new chapter of my life but rather the beginning of a new life altogether. No doubt that's how Neil Armstrong must have felt when he first stepped on the surface of the moon. Even though I was well aware that this place was a valley of new suffering, my soul was filled with joy and hope, anticipating the people I would soon meet; today, I would say this was hope in God's grace. A dark ironic metaphor for this feeling is captured in an excerpt from the letter that I sent to my family on February 12, 1979:

When I was brought in, most prisoners were at work in the labor zone. This gave me an opportunity to arrange my meager belongings and prepare myself to meet them. I was assigned to a barrack where a cot and a small cupboard had been allocated to me. Soon enough, all the prisoners returned from the work zone. A group of “disobedient” prisoners (i.e., the dissidents) greeted me warmly and enthusiastically, and I later found out that there was a unique ritual for new arrivals: