This woman stitches you back, from the heels to your neck down all your joints, even tears she's strung them together like pearls and threw out with a peel of laughter. We spend an hour in the bakery then go shopping. She cooks for you at her place, the only three dishes that she knows: cauliflower with Laoganma, bamboo shoots with pork meat, eggs with tomatoes, and yes, a dessert made under five minutes in a microwave. She spends the entire day putting you straight and back together, piece by piece. To her you've let out every little angst twisted in a ball, and she untangles them with the astuteness of a sage. You don't understand how you are the same age and yet lack all the analytical abilities. Except maybe we're all experts in life except our own.
You owe her for this day.
You've heard of stories of a helping hand at our most destitute, or unfortunate moment, and how some years later you go back to this person and help them when they most need help. Well, you owe her for this one. You owe her for her patience, for her strength, for all the tales of men she regaled you with.
Thank you, Camilla.