Fourteen
19 SummersWe went to the cliffside shrine to leave offerings for my father, as we did every year; to pray for his happiness in the afterlife and for our own well-being in this life.
For the first time, it felt pointless.
My father was dead. My mother was aging faster than she had the right to, running the pension and raising three children in this dead-end place. No amount of offerings would change that.
Comments