I’m sure half of you is having a mini panic attack just by reading the title of this post. Death is something so difficult to talk about, and I DID NOT choose to talk about it with Monday. He wanted me to read one of the Fairytales in Chinese that I bought for him in attempt to 1. teach him mandarin / chinese, 2. improve my mandarin reading skills (loll not going well since all I do is read the pinyin ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )
If you don’t know this classic tale, it’s basically about a girl who sell matches in the winter and couldn’t sell any and couldn’t go home. She decided to sit in the cold and lit all her matches while fantasizing about warmth, food and lastly love from her late grandmother. She obviously died; and that was it. WHAT A FUTILE AND SAD STORY. Seriously some of Hans Anderson’s stories are just painfully pointless. I honestly don’t know what the moral of the story is. To not sell matchsticks?
When I told Monday that she saw her grandmother and lit all her matches so she could hug her grandmother, and then died — Monday’s face went flat white.
“She die?”
Me: Yea..
Monday: Awh that’s so sad. I don’t want her to die. Why she die?