I buried my aunt's body in front of the grave and respectfully shook it a few times. My aunt was like a great mountain—when I was just born, I grew up on a mountain, like a piece of wood. My aunt shielded me from harm, defending me against others' attacks. She protected me so I wouldn't grow up thinking I'd lost my surname.
The clothes from home appeared directly before me. I took one look, and they quietly drifted behind me—not speaking, not saying a word. They followed me silently. They knew I didn't need consolation right now; I needed peace.
Before I even realized it, I was back home, looking for my aunt. My young self reached out to touch my face—it felt different. After that, I had no choice but to catch my breath and keep moving forward. I had no idea where I was going or where I might end up.
As I wandered aimlessly down the road, my uncle drove his little personal car toward me. I lowered my head, avoiding looking ahead, and continued walking slowly.
