There is a big wooden bell at the entrance of our village, which is rung when someone in the village dies. I have hated that sound since I was a child. Whenever someone knocked, my grandma would always cover my ears and pat my back gently to comfort me: "My dear, what will you do when you knock by yourself in the future?" I didn't want to answer such a stupid question from her. Everyone in my family was dead, so how could I have any chance to knock on it? But later, in the early morning before the smoke rose, I helplessly rang the bell over and over again in an almost self-inflicted manner, letting it irritate my eardrums and paralyze my nerves, but no one came to help me cover my ears. Only then did I realize that my grandma was asking this question for me, but I had never regarded her as a family member...
