"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I know it’s been a year. Since I was a little kid, my mom used to tell me a story about how she gave birth to me. She told me you were the first one to carry me before mom and dad did. She told me how much you never wanted to see me cry, so you hurried to carry me to stop from crying. I know that was a long time ago, before you moved to Indiana Polis, yet I can’t even still remember a thing, even your touch and you face. Though, I’ve seen you on my mom’s photo album, smiling and looking straight directly to the camera. But I wanted to see you in person. There were days that you called mom, over the telephone, because you missed her. You miss your lovely daughther. Everytime my mom calls my name to let me have a conversation with you, I started to feel like I don’t want to. There are days that I just ran away pretending that I didn’t hear mom. When I was 11 years old, you heard the news about my little brother, that he faint in the middle of the school hallway. So you called again to my mom’s phone. The last thing that I could remember is that you told me that you wanted to see us so bad, and you always love us. Your voice were so sweet and gentle. Never knew that was our last conversation.

February 28, 2012, I woke up in the noise of a sob. My mom’s sobbed. I secretly peeked at my blacket seeing her on a break down, while dad catches her. I was so curious, so I decided not to fall asleep back. And then that sentence came. “My dad, he’s gone.” my mom cried. A tear escaped in my eyes. I cried. I just couldn’t stop from crying. After years have passed, I asked my mom what’s the cause of your death, she told me about your sick, but something just really quite off. Like she was lying. June 2014, I flight to my Manila. Where I stayed in my aunt’s house for a month. It was quite fun, but I still couldn’t get the picture of your face outof my mind.

It was dinner time. My aunt called me to have dinner with them. So I did. There were silence between us, before she start speaking up. She started talking about you, about how much you really love my mom. Like she was your little princess. After that, she started bringing up the cause of your death, which it caught up my attention. But first, she gave me a promise to never tell this topic to my mom. So I agreed.

She start speaking up that the cause of your death isn’t about illness, but a suicide. She told me that you were holding unto things that can’t almost be handled, so you ended up hanging. I almost cried in the middle of the dining table, but I dare not to. So I gave aunt a smile.

Hey grandpa, I’m 16 years old now, running to 17. How time ran fast, right? To be honest, I’d never believe on anything about the cause of your death. All I believe is that you whole heartedly loved us and wanted us happy. You loved us so much, maybe that’s because you can’t almost handle those things, because you’re so afraid of letting it go. I love you grandpa, you’re always be in our hearts. Whatever the cause of your death is, I, myself, I wanted to know it on my own when I grow up. I love you grandpa.