过年初二。

Waiting for the midnight clock to strike to honor the 6th year since your passing by the Chinese calendar.

Happy 6th death-anniversary, M. 

This also means that I’ve been smoking for 6 years.

It also means that scars rarely heal because when I wished our family for a happy Chinese new year this morning, the replies were different from how people I’ve observed would wish each other.

Which also means that by feeling good about cny this year, I’ve chosen to put memories behind. Things are looking better than they were, but they are still pretty bad, honestly. I keep losing myself in days and moments, and I feel a lack of choice in actually feeling capable of finding hope and motivation. And I keep choosing to slip back because that is all I know.

Everyone puts on new clothing, and all I wish for again is to put on that same dress I ironed at 14 while you and father were out drawing money for red packets. When I cried while ironing because it suddenly hit me that one day, the both of you will no longer be around and I will be all alone.

It took 6 years for you to leave, and now another 6 years for me to get used to it.

Heaven knows what might happen in the next 6 years? 

Sadly, everything I can imagine leads to devastation.

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