Couldn’t help to think of this little story many many times. “ There’s an old veteran who grew apples in Lishan. He had liver cancer and was in and out of the ward where I worked. He had no family, no friends, no money - nothing at all. I took special care of him. Every time he returned to the hospital for a follow-up, he would travel all the way down the mountain carrying a big bag of apples he had grown himself, just to give them to me. I would thank him with tears in my eyes. Later, his condition worsened, and he was hospitalized again. I knew very well that this time, he would never climb the mountain back to his home in Lishan. But no one dared to break the taboo of talking about death. “ No family, no friends, no money - that’s me too, isn’t it? So he was someone who followed the nationalist government to Taiwan and just stayed here, alone, never started another family. But he treated the people he met in life sincerely, and because of that, he was remembered. Even if he died alone, as long as someone remembers them, it means they didn’t pass through life like they never existed. What can we do that would last forever? Do we even need to be eternal? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Who am I, anyway? Is that even important?