In my brain there is a new word: in-vis-ible. I write it in my autobiography storybook again and again and again: Invisible. Invisible. Invisible.
This word got into my brain on Thursday night at 7 pm, just after Louis left my hospital room. I was alone with Wài Pó while Dad and Irene went to get dinner. Together we were watching the Chinese news with careful eyes and ears. A lady’s voice from inside the TV was telling us a sad story about an old man who lived in Kowloon, Hong Kong, in his own apartment all by himself. I saw the old man’s photo from inside the TV; he had big ears, grey hair, a long beard and age all over his face. He looked like a cute, sweet man with a bit of the magic in his beard, like a wizard. Then the lady from the TV said the man had died and no one knew about this because he was alone, all by himself.
No single body, like his friends or family, knew in their hearts and minds about his death because this old man did not have any friends or family.
The only reason he was found dead was because there was water dripping and flooding from a broken pipe in his house and someone had to fix it. This fixing person had to break into his home like a thief, and that is when they saw him. I am sure that he was a bit stiff, and probably he was purple and blue because there was cold under his skin. Like Mum, when her heart stopped, and she was put in a box in the ground and part of her soul went to live on a bright star.
At night, I watch Mum glow.