None of Your Business

Dedicated to my dad, and to everyone who never got the chance to say, “I don't need you to worry about me.” Fifteen years ago, I was a fifteen-year-old student in eighth grade when I was called out of class. My homeroom teacher told me there was trouble at home and I should go back. I didn't know that “go back” was a place I'd never be able to return to. Fifteen years later, I stood by the roadside, clutching a professional qualification certificate, looking at an old three-wheeled cart and the person beside it. Suddenly, I wanted to say something to him. Not “I'm sorry,” and not “I miss you.” It was “Dad, you don't have to worry about me anymore.” “Really, you don't.” “Let me take care of you now.” The old man selling vegetables finally looked up at me. Maybe he thought I'd been standing there too long. He asked, “Miss, would you like to buy some vegetables?” I shook my head. But when he asked, my nose stung. I turned away as the bus arrived. I climbed aboard and leaned against the window in the back row. The three-wheeled cart outside grew smaller and smaller, until it became a blurry gray speck. I lowered my eyes and opened the certificate. My name, Hou Hui, was printed in gold lettering.