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 was a pretty old one. I opened it; laugh was all I could do at that moment. That was because I saw a picture of mine, which was taken ten years ago. In the picture, my cousins and I were standing together laughing and hugging; we were joyful. I was about nine then dressed in a very unfashionable way. The picture brought back many memories of myself: the cheerful me, the unhappy me, the curious me, the naive me.
I started to look at the photos one by one. When I turned to one page, I saw a picture of my grandfather an
I still remember the first time I saw my mother cry. I was sleeping but then I woke up by a drop of tear on my face. I opened my eyes, and saw my mom weeping beside my bed. I was scared, confused, and upset. I had never seen her cry; and curious about why was she crying. Each time I went over to my grandfather's house I was wondering about where my grandfather was. Grandma never told me why grandfather had left us; she only told me that grandfather had gone to a very long trip. He had traveled to a far place that we couldn't reach. I believed it, and I asked my grandma if I could write to grandpa. She didn't answer my question and turned around. I saw her shoulder shaking. I miss my grandfather's story. I miss the sunsets we had watched together. I miss my grandfather's smile; and I miss him.
d me. In the picture, my grandfather was sitting in the easy chair comfortably; I was sitting on
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