A small town in Bavaria, I'm 9 years old, people in town know the priest and he knows all about my misdeeds. The confessional door slams shut and I feel like I'm locked in a prison cell. Unlike the confessor, my seat is not padded. Those who are guilty should not be comfortable. It smells of stale incense, dust and sin. The grille that keeps the priest at a distance lets in razor-sharp rays of light. The priest gets a full view into my confession cell, my soul and my register of sins.

4 rosaries and 10 Hail Marys and my guilt is extinguished - forgotten and forgiven. That's what the priest said. When I saw him on the street two days later, he nodded at me wordlessly - he knows what I have done and he lets me feel it. The weight of guilt is a heavy one.