Whenever my mother, still young, led me by the hand up this slope, she would always sigh; she’d laugh and say that a sigh was enough to let it all out—and that one must never look back. Her white hand, as she laughed, was incredibly soft. People often speak of good luck or bad, and watching you, I realize that such things truly do exist.Shinobu, Shinobazu, Muen-zaka—my mother’s modest life, lived with quiet, deliberate acceptance.
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