There’s a vase of wilted flowers by my bedside that I refuse to throw away. Outside my window, there’s a tree the colour of the setting sun; its leaves are hanging so loose like they’re about to fall. After a minute or so, a light breeze sweeps one of those leaves right past me. It takes a mid air twirl before gently falling to the ground.
A butterfly is fluttering around the potted plants; there’s a jingle in its flight, but its wings are mellow.
When I was 4, I remember my mother wearing a black wrap, full length jumpsuit for an award function. When I was 9, I remember her suiting up in a white shirt for a work meeting. At 13, when she changed careers and started selling art, I remember her putting on a flowery embroidered kimono, while sipping wine during an art opening. When I turned 18, she wore a black dress for my birthday dinner and sometime during this year, she held up some red velvet fabric and excitedly said, ‘I’m going to make this into a sari!’