How we ever know the end of our own day..
Of how we may look like upon our death..
In truth..
We'll never knew it..
The day our breath stop breathing..

On that day...
The very day when my great grand mother leaves us..
We gathered.. We cooked.. We called the villagers.. and we ate together..
Nothing will b the same again...
Nothing will be repeated..
During the day we prepared nasi ambang.. And ate together in dulang..



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