An introduction to a story which I may continue:
I am back to see this little house which we have deserted since after the war. Now it’s taken by a small family of three, some relatives of my deceased mother. They claim to be my cousin and his family. Their elders had permission from my mother to live here, so they told me. I could not remember any relative we had or any of them came to our rescue when we ran out of food.
The house still remains in perfect condition. The window panes are changed. I remember they showed cracks but we were too poor to have it fixed and my mother, a widow, did not know how to have it done. The four walls have been repainted inside out. It is a one-room house. There are stools, four of them at a table. On the table is a flask with five cups, and one holding chopsticks and one spoons . There are also a few bowls and plates on it. A double bed is found against one of the walls. The bed has drawers underneath it. I guess their two-year-old son shares the bed with them. I see shelves on top of a chest of drawers holding their cooking utensils. What they have is no more than basic necessities and yet they seem happy; they are short of nothing.