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New York was washing by the tropical storm last Friday; it seemed to clean out each inch of dirt at every corner of the city. The chilly wind was blowing outside; I could see the trees dancing in front of my window. I was at home. I should thank the storm for a day-off so I could do some housework. I found a photograph album under my bed, when I was cleaning the house. It …

… mood of cherishing my past. I suppose that a person would always have some apprehension at a rainy day. I slowly closed the photo album and put it on the shelve. I was upset that I have grown up. I have to face the pain of losing a family member. I wish I could be that nine year-old boy again. So I could have all kind of fantasy to deal with such great lost.