She looks a size smaller than the last time I saw her. With no make-ups on, I can see her pale skin and wrinkles around her eyes. She is not as babbly as she used to. Instead of talking, she listens. She gazes at her daughter playing next to her, with a peaceful smile, and from time to time she sinks into her own thoughts. At early 30s, she already has a mature-woman-grace about her, quietly shinning. But, her shoulders are carrying the pain of losing her mother to breast cancer and her father to sanity.
She smiles again, takes my hands, and says, “I am still hopeful.”
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