Sometimes I think who would care about my story a hundred years from now? No one would care. Because of that, I lost the motivation to write my story.

But last Sunday, while I was working. I remebered my maternal grandpa. Then I thought maybe someday, one of my grandsons or gruaddaughters will want to know what their grandpa August was like, and what kind of person he was.

maybe my word will help them understand me.

Yesterday, at Chermside restaurant, I taked a lot about the dangerous work I did while I was working at the chemical factory in Chine, and felt very lucky to have survived to still alive today.