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See you,

People of my hometown shared the same family name, Tang.
Our living and work relied on connections.
My mum was extremely weak when she was born that she was once abandoned.
Grandfather picked her back.
He had gone through the violent class struggle during the Cultural Revolution.
In the 90s, father, I and brother, my mother moved to Hong Kong separately in a hope to search for opportunities. !
In 2017, due to thyroid cancer, my mother took electrotherapy and have to cut her hair above shoulder length.
I kept her hair as “every part of my body is given by my parents.” (Chinese idiom)
Her ashes were brought to our hometown.

Hair collected from the living room was the medium for drawing our family photo.
Controlling the time in the darkroom, black hair was turned into white.

The hidden trace of her in our old house echoes as the collage in photo albums.
“After the thunderstorm...” was written on a storybook inside her rusted box.

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