The first time, I was still a student, preparing for my diploma exam, learning from copies of K’s perfect notes on literature, when I was told she was dying of breast cancer. I liked K a lot.

I’ve just found out a colleague whose translated sentences I am using as a reference right now passed away 6 months ago. She was a year younger than me. I liked B a lot.

While I wouldn’t go so far as to say K and B live on through me (what a horrible claim), I find it a bit consoling that written words should live on.

Like traces in the vast plains and swirls of our universe.



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