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The lost community


The word 'community' is both intimate and unfamiliar for me.

Back in childhood, I was so familiar with my community. Since my parents were both busy with work, a neighbour took the job of my babysitter. Growing up with her kids, I felt living in a big family. At that time, I knew everyone in my neighborhood. The old couple on the 4th floor who took me home for cookies everytime we met. My best friend was on the 5th floor, I went her home for dinner every other day. By the way, I still remember the smells of pickled chilies in their kitchen. And the girl next door who was two years older introduced me to the world of animation and manga which became my big favorites in life. They were all kind and sweet people I missed a lot. The community was definitely a big family for everyone.

After I moved out from the old community, everything changed. My parents and I lived in an apartment where there was less public space between neighbors. People went home and closed the door immediately, leaving no chance for neighbors to chat. I did not even know who my next door were. I always dreamed about going back to my old home. Even when I grew up, I have never been in a community like the one in my childhood.

In order to commemorate my community when I was a kid, I began to work on the story of Quilt from A Hundred Families which is about people in community helping each other. It stroke me the first time I heard my husband said. I wrote the nonfiction story and illustrated it, hoping to resonate people's memory of the ideal community in our mind.

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