Each time I see a balloon, my mind files back to a memory of my childhood. I was a six-year-old girl then. It was a 1 Sunday and my father had just died. I asked my mum if we could write a 2 to dad.
Mum stopped and answered, "Yes."
"3? Does the mailman go to heaven (天堂)?" I asked.
"No, 4 I have an idea". Mum drove to a party shop and returned with a red 5. I asked her what the balloon was for.
"Wait, honey! You will see." mum said. She told me to write my letter. I got my favourite pen and 6 my six-year-old heart in the form of blue ink. I wrote about my day, what I learnt at school and what stories I read. Then I gave the letter to mum. She read it over, and a smile crossed 7 face.
She made a hole in the corner of the letter where she tied the balloon string (细绳). We went outside and she gave me the balloon. It was still raining.
"OK. On the count of 8, let it go. One, two, three."
The balloon. 9 my letter, flew upward against the rain. We watched until it disappeared in the sky.
Later I realized, like the balloon, that dad had 10 let his sickness get him down. He was strong. I wanted to be a balloon.
