Dear Mama,
It's the first day of November. It's the start of your birth month, Mama. The kids and I will not be going to the cemetery this time, Mama. We'll be visiting there some other days. The sun has started to shine now, although based on the news there is another typhoon coming. It might rain again in a little while, Mama.
Honestly, I really wish it will still rain, Mama. At least the rain would suppress the noises and activities that bring me anxieties. I know that's too selfish, Mama. I'm sorry. I'm just tired of feeling this anxiety within me.
But my wish is that I will be already with you on your birthday on the 29th, Mama. I'm having a difficult time trying to convince myself that I can still go on. Nobody likes me here. And I mean, nobody, Mama. I guess I have already outlived my usefulness.
I wish I can be with you, Mama. I miss you.
I love you.
Daddy
