Thrice a week for five years — be it rainy or sunny, holiday or school day, busy or free, grandfather would drive me, on his rustic, old-fashioned bicycle, to violin classes.

Today marks the 20th summer of my life. I never really liked summer as much as I love winter, despite being born in summertime.

Every summer night, zillion of stars would rise, sparkle, twinkle, enlarge, then fall on top of the roof, next to the valley, by the swimming pool, up the AQ hill, and on the Wada’s open stairs.