Let me tell you a story.

There was once this old lady, almost in her eighties.

She had 3 grandchildren, 2 boys and 1 girl. The eldest would probably remember her as the one who carried him around, who brought him to the market and who taught him how to ride a bicycle. Sharing the same bedroom, they shared a bond much like that of mother-and-son.

Maybe it was because she lived through the war. Or maybe that's just her character. Either way, she was strong, a fighter. Stricken with cancer, she managed to undergo chemotherapy and more amazingly, survived it.

He thought it was all over, everything was going to be fine. How wrong he was.

She was diagnosed with cancer again. But this time the doctors were not optimistic. They said the cancer cells were more aggressive now and all they could do was to make her undergo chemotherapy again, to make her live abit longer.

He saw that she was suffering. She used to cook, clean and take care of everything in the house. Now, she couldn't even walk for long. It pained him, but he didn't know what to say. Whenever he recalled the memories, he cried.

One day, his mum told him what his grandmother had said when a social worker asked her, "What's on your mind now?"

His grandmother replied in cantonese, "我的孙子."

Hearing this, he cried.

``Scribble-ed