The presenter interviewed a veteran’s granddaughter who’d taken over her grandfather’s business, and now owned his shop. I stared at her tanned face. That could have been me, if Grandpa had stayed. Maybe he’d have opened a clinic there, and cobbled together a living with the help of the local Chinese community. Then my father would have arrived, then me—I’d have grown up and maybe fallen in love with a Myanmarese boy. We’d have run through the rain to hear Aung San Suu Kyi speak in the square, then hugged and cheered when we heard on TV that newspapers would no longer be censored. This life that wasn’t mine would have, like a dandelion, puffed into blossom wherever the wind took it. Without the encumbrance of roots, it would have grown in its own manner. That would have been purer, at least. This ancient country was under a thick layer of dust, and leaving would feel like being cleansed. I was drawn to this freedom, even if it came streaked with suffering.

Unfortunately, Grandpa hadn’t had the courage to desert, and the impoverished soil of Myanmar didn’t arouse his ambition. Peixuan thinks he never had any kind of ambition anyway. When she was interviewed for the documentary, she said: Grandpa once told me he just went with the flow; he studied hard at school, and did his best as a doctor. He joined the army at the right time, then entered the Party at the right time. He made sure to put his feet in the right place. The times were changing so quickly, one false step and you’d find yourself no longer on solid ground, plummeting into the abyss. Going with the flow was actually very difficult. Like a signal operator patiently adjusting the frequency, one needed sensitive ears and a still heart to correctly tune in to the era.

Peixuan mailed me the documentary that’s playing on the TV now. While I waited for you this afternoon, I played it on a loop, watching it over and over, though my attention kept drifting. When I have the chance, I’ll tell her I like the section about the soldiers most. I enjoy looking back at the first half of Grandpa’s life, imagining what would have happened if he’d just stopped at a particular point—what that would have done to our family’s destiny.

Since getting back to Southern Courtyard, I haven’t been anywhere except the supermarket. Oh, and the drugstore once—I needed something to help me sleep. Otherwise, I’ve been here, watching a dying man. Grandpa lost consciousness this morning. I couldn’t wake him. It was still dark, and the pressure in the room was low. I stood by his bed, feeling death hover like a flock of bats.