Written by Xiangxuan Wang from the International Department of Chengdu Shude High School, China The world remembers people in quiet, strange ways. Some by photographs pressed between old books. Some by voices sealed in forgotten recordings. I remember my mother by a scent that lingered long after she left the room. It clung to sun-warmed cotton swaying on the line, lavender and old soap still holding the warmth of her hands. Every evening she washed away more than dust. The k
