In 1989, when I was eight years old, I was left at the door of the orphanage.
Wrapped in an old gray blanket.
Thirty-five years later, someone told me:
That blanket was knitted by my grandma.
Knitted for three months.
Wait for me.
——
This is a story about waiting.
Many people have been waiting for me for many years.
I don't even know.
Now, I want to write them down.
