It was always a fight. I’ve been seeing blood for years, because trying to belong anywhere has always been a fight for me. A fight with blood coming out of my ears. All my life I‘ve felt like people have put in faulty wiring in me, and I’ve been trying to get the wiring out. It has always been true belonging that I have been looking for, I just didn‘t know it. Today marks the one year anniversary of my grandma’s death. In the hit show BEEF there‘s a line that I massively like, which Paul utters, comparing life to a videogame. He says that when one of the player dies the game keeps going, but when you die, the game stops. I was also thinking about how she, her whole life, also didn’t know where she belonged. She had come from Malaysia, but she ended up dying in Beijing. I remember the days before she died, and the last time I saw her. It was something like the 16th of January, which is probably why I went to visit her grave during this time. I was not at her bedside when she died, when I was told the ayi who‘d looked after her as she died had gotten on her knees and kowtowed. I wasn’t there when my youngest auntie produced a hat so she wouldn‘t be cold in the underworld. Then my other auntie, her other daughter, had apparently run around like a headless chicken and seemed completely shocked when her mother was on the brink of death. It was the end of a family.