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"I know it's difficult", my mother Rebecca said, "but we have to open her armoire someday".
My grandfather gasped and I turned just in time to see him walk out of the bedroom. My mother sighed and tried to laugh through the tears welling in her eyes.
"No", I repeated. I didn't want anything of hers. "Are you sure?", my mom asked. "I'm sure she'd want you to have something."
"You know how she is," my grandfather explained. "Just do what she says and you'll be okay."
"No Filipino values anymore!"
"You see, you sniff the little hole here to find out if it's ripe. If it smells nice and sweet, it's ready to eat." My grandmother would always put the pink handkerchief sandwich in between my shirt and skin.
"Your Lola would really want you to have something," my mother repeated. "Fine! I'll take that pink thing," I said. I walked away from my mom, placed the faded pink handkerchief in my pocket and smiled.
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