The Yellow River flows torrential in my veins. China is me I am China.
When I was small, Nostalgia was a tiny postage stamp, I, on this side, My mother, on the other. Later on, Nostalgia was a low tomb, I, outside. My mother, inside. And now, Nostalgia is the coastline, a shallow strait. I, on this side, The mainland, on the other.
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