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My mother as a married woman hardly showed her body parts, and she tried to cover them as much as she could in front of others. Doing so was deemed reverence towards her husband, as part of promoting her husband’s prestige and family honor[1], and maintaining her own chastity and purity.


The roof flew off. The rice recently harvested and stored in a spare room toppled over and hid underneath the debris. A cow in the barn got hit by flying splinters of wood and died.

The house stored beehives and bees; I used to run eating and sucking honeycombs with both of my hands, honey dripping off of my elbows and my mouth painted with sticky layers of honey, which when dried coated my face with a filmy layer of translucent sweetness.