I always thought that the memory would slowly fade away, just like the wind in the summer of my second grade year, which blew away and dispersed - until a certain moment, I suddenly remembered my grandpa waiting for us at the door. His voice, appearance and even his name have become blurred. Only the figure guarding the door, the instruction to "wash hands and eat", and the small fragments related to him in childhood have become increasingly clear over the years.
In this essay, there are no magnificent stories, only the fragmented but warm daily life between my grandfather and me. I want to write down these memories that are almost out of my grasp one by one, so that I can have a good reunion with him in the past, and also have a gentle reconciliation with the self who was once loved by him.
Intention: People have joys and sorrows, separations and reunions, and the moon waxes and wanes. This is a difficult thing in ancient times.