After a series of menacing thunder roars, the rain comes down. Consolable. It sounds just like an intense rainy day in Hong Kong, pinging splattering against the windows as I lay down on my small bed listening - in a different, bigger bed now, I wish I could move it closer to the windows, just to recapitulate the drumming, pitter-pattering sound I take in as my heart beats, my breathing, short and consuming. Now the rain comes down, I rush to see the rain hitting on my window pane, I stare, and I stand there listening, quite beside myself, in moments of rapture. Later, after the rain has stopped, I’d go back to my bedroom, pick up my fuzzy cat and give it a hug. Every morning after making the bed, I cover it with a blue linen bedspread bought from Istanbul, and after giving the green-eye knitted cat a kiss, I’d lay it down in between the two pillows. To put a toy animal on bed is a habit I picked up, unconsciously from my aunt and uncle, who used to put a small stuffed lion toy to decorate their bed; and from this reflection, I believe my cousin, his hot temper and drinking habit, must be bequeathed to him by his father - my uncle, who after work everyday, would go to drink with colleagues as a way to escape his high-pressure job. These days, when I look into the mirror, I find my mother’s face in her old age, that I should be happy, that she was a great beauty in her younger days, that I only regret my inheritance comes a bit too late.
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