That morning was like every first day of the year’s morning before. Looking out the
window, in the blue sky, fluffy clouds like cotton candies played around with the wind.
The golden sun spread its warm sunshine to the ground. The birds were chirping like they
wanted to welcome the spring fairy. The weather was comfortable. Nevertheless, that’s not
what I remember about it. In my house, there was a storm. We lost him. My grandfather.
Lost on New Year’s Day.
I still remembered my mother’s face when she was panic. She looked at my father and
asked him was that real. My father did not answer her. He only looked at some space out
there. In front of our porch, there was a leave fell out like our grandfather left us.
I sat in my room, hugged the backpack that my grandfather gave me when I was ten. I
started self-torment. Not tormented. That was hateful. I thought that’s not true. He couldn’t
die on the first day of the New Year like he did. I had to enjoy my Lunar New Year, my
favorite festival of the year. I had to wear a pretty red dress that my mom bought for me.
The fact was I couldn’t wear it. No one allows you to wear red clothes in the funeral.
Moreover, I couldn’t get lucky money because nobody dared to visit the house which had
funeral in the New Year at all. NO! He could not ruin the day my favorite festival. He
