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Because She Combed My Hair For My Mother's Funeral

"Sit over here and let me press your hair". She put a chair in front of the stove like my mother used to do. Just like when I was kid, I reluctantly followed orders and thought all about the past times the back of my neck or tip of my ears were burned during this beauty ritual. Carrying all the sadness in the world, I dragged my feet while walking towards her and sat down in the chair. I had no energy to say no and her tone told me that refusing would be useless. She turned on the fire for one o...
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