The scarf inside the newspaper clippings

Last night, I fell asleep on the sofa while reading and watching television at the same time. Then, when I tried to sleep in bed, I couldn't. I tossed and turned under the blanket with my eyes closed, and all manner of thoughts came to my mind. What happens if no one out of the three of us ends up living in Korea? What happens to my parents then - how are we to take care of them in their old age? How am I going to fit them into my new life from so far away? Eventually, I was exhausted by my own meandering thoughts and fell into a nervous twitching sleep.

I was grouchy all day - there were papers to sign, declarations to swear, fingers to be fingerprinted, certificates to be obtained, medical appointments to make, quotes from removal companies to be obtained and bills to pay. By four thirty in the afternoon I had a mild headache and I was covered with dust as I weeded out the useless documents from my office. I came across a pile of newspaper clippings in Korean which had been sitting on the far side of the office since last year.

Last summer, my mother and I had discussed the possibility of my buying a flat in Seoul for the family. My mother had collected the newspaper articles and brochures for new developments, and my father had earnestly sent me emails detailing mortgages. When I went to visit them in June my mother had packed the newspaper clippings in a transparent bag for me. I came back to Hong Kong, and read the first couple of articles, but then found myself swept up with other things to read, and the idea of buying a flat drifted away to make space for more pressing demands on my time.

Now the papers were covered with a light sprinkling of dust, like I was. I moved the top half of the papers away, absentmindedly flicking through them, not reading anything but wondering whether I should keep any of them, when a small paper packet fell out. I recognised the wrapping paper as that from the department store near my parents' home, so I opened it. Out fell a soft, shiny pale yellow and cream silk scarf. It had a tag from one of my mother's favourite English brands. I was bewildered and shocked as I realised how I might have never found her present. Why did she buy me this? Why didn't she tell me? How could I have not found it until now? I should have at least read the clippings she collected for me. What kind of daughter am I? I felt a huge grey tidal wave of guilt, gratitude and tiredness roll across my chest. I started to cry. Here I was, preparing to leave my parents to move to the other side of the Earth, complaining about how much hassle I was going through in defying them and feeling sorry for myself, when I hadn't even stopped to recognise my parents' obvious demonstrations of love. No wonder they're upset about my impending move. I went into Chinese Sad Associate's office to cry into her tissues. I'm sorry, Mum and Dad. I love you, too. I'm sorry I'm going so far away.