She says I’m from the Transmigration Bureau. She says she’s my attending physician. She says I’m her cousin.
Three people, three different stories.
The words written on my right palm are in my own handwriting.
The jacket I’m wearing is mine. The collar says: Lin Duìduì. Male.
The place where I live is mine. On the coffee table, it says: You’re sitting in my old seat.
My younger brother is called Lin Duìduì.
I’m called Lin Gui.
Five years ago, there were two people in the car when it crashed. One was the older sister. One was the younger brother.
The one who survived forgot who they were.
I’m looking for someone.
His name is Lin Duìduì.
He might still be alive.
