Life is a matrix of roads, comprising of a plethora of twists and turns. Hope becomes our greatest pillar because it makes our present moments less difficult to bear. But at the end of every day we come back to square one – home. Home is a place of comfort, a place for resting before going back to the daily grind. But somehow, lately this feeling had been lost. The war had consumed everything; it had set the country ablaze and crippled the economy. But at the end of every war, there is always a new beginning. People persist. China was finally recovering.
As he lay on the soft grass, staring into the infinity of space, little Wangji finally had some time to be alone with his thoughts. Sixteen hours of non-stop work at the sugar factory was rough. His grandmother had finally fallen asleep. The new medicines are working better than the previous ones. A cool breeze was blowing. The atmosphere was blissful. There were signs of happiness and joy lingering in the environment with anticipation for better days among the population. New Year was just a week away. Moon cakes and fireworks and red envelopes would be the star of the festivities.
Those red envelopes! Ever since he had known the celebrations, Wangji had been attracted to them. But they had always been too poor to afford money to put in them, even when grandma Lan was well enough to work. Instead, they would burn bamboo in front of their tiny, overcrowded slum dwelling and eat tangerines together. He still remembered how she looked then. Life had taken so much from her, yet she still remembered to smile for him every day.
“Tomorrow will be better, Baobao.” She would say to him every time he was unhappy with his circumstances.
It is a different story now, Wangji sighed. She couldn’t even recognize him anymore. Sometimes she would run outside in hysterical screams and ask him repeatedly to take her back to her original home – a place called Hangzhou. It was as if she was under some kind of delusion. The doctors in the free clinic called it a mental disease, whose name he had neither heard nor could pronounce.
Thinking of all the hardships that they had conquered together, Wangji wondered if they would be alright. Maybe grandma was right. Maybe this year would bring good things. He got up, dusted himself off and ran home to her.
“This year would definitely be better.” He thought to himself.
The next morning there was an incident reported in a tiny corner of the Shanghai Times: A young boy had been hit by a pick-up truck while crossing the road and had died on the spot.