Chapter 6 — Thien Kim Really Doesn't Listen to Comments

“Nien Niem, I'm sorry.” I looked at her and smiled. “Mom, it's over.” Tears fell from her eyes. She wanted to say something, but I interrupted her. "You're living very well now, I can rest assured." That day, when seeing her off to the airport, she stood at the security checkpoint and turned her head to look at me a few times, finally waved her hand and turned around to go in. I stood outside the ground-level glass door, watching her back walking inside, without any disturbance in my heart. I can't forgive them, nor do I want to mend relationships with them. Seeing them always makes me remember everything in the past. I don't want the next half of my life to be stuck in this type of self-waste. It's just a piece of the past, it's over. I'm not short of money. Every year, the dividends from shares are enough for me to live carefree for the rest of my life. But I still find a job I like in the South. Work is quite leisurely, on weekends I sometimes go to the beach for a walk and explore my interests. The winter of my third year after graduating, my grandmother passed away. She passed away very peacefully, in her sleep. I rushed back to attend the funeral. Standing in the shrine, looking at her smile in the black and white photo, I bowed three times. My mother stood next to me and pulled my hand, crying so much that she couldn't stand. I caught her. After the funeral ended, Lam Dien called me aside and took out an envelope from his pocket. "Grandma left it for me." I opened it. Inside was a bank card and a piece of paper. On the piece of paper was my grandmother's shaky handwriting: "Nim Niem, live well." I folded the paper, put it in my pocket, and put my bank card in the compartment in my wallet. Lam Dien looked at me. "Stay home for a few more days. Your parents miss you very much, I... I miss you too." I said: "No need, I still have to go to work." Lam Dien's mouth moved, but in the end he could only say one sentence. That was the last time I returned to the Lam family. After that, I would occasionally receive a text message from my mother. Sometimes it's a photo, sometimes it's a few words. I watched it and occasionally answered a question. Just like that, not far, not near, like a river apart. I live very well. There is no finger-pointing commentary, and no need to perform according to anyone's expectations. Southern winters are not cold. I planted a few pots of green plants on the balcony, watered them every day, and watched them slowly grow. That afternoon, when I got home from work, the sunset just slipped in from the gaps between the buildings, covering the leaves of the trees on the balcony with a bright yellow border. I stood there looking for a while, suddenly remembering the south-facing window on the second floor of the Lam family's old house many years ago. The sunlight outside the window was just as beautiful then. It's just that at that time, I wasn't in the mood to watch. I pushed open the balcony door, put down the watering can, turned around and went back into the house. I cooked a bowl of noodles, added a fried egg, sat at the table and slowly ate it all. Outside the window, the sky is getting darker, the stars are shining. I washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, folded clothes to wear tomorrow and placed them neatly at the head of the bed. Then turn off the lights and go to sleep. A dreamless night.