Men.

I was in secondary school when I cut up my chou chou – a stuffed elephant.
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I know why it is called a fit of rage. Or why they say someone flew into a fury.
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I read her tribute to her father; a story of hope that might one day, outline my own. I nearly cried. And I wondered if I'd be able to write from the perspective of one on that journey.
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He went into the toilet to bathe, for a good forty minutes, just five minutes after I went to switch on the heater. I felt the stirring of a loud "tsk" inside. But tonight isn't a night I want to ruin. He came out whistling. Casually, he said, Jiejie, the water is hot. I bet the heater is off now.
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Conversations with him have been light this week. Someone recounted his prayers in a note of thanksgiving: he really liked the girl, he prayed. Is it possible? Do I get to pray about this too? I am prone, however, to extrapolating circumstances and projecting their trajectories on my own journey. He has been nothing but generous.