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on her last night she pulled each daughter aside. bestowing last-minute confucianisms and fragements of what she hopes is awakening is customary. my turn came sooner than I'd hoped as I sulked into the room after her. we sat side by side, the silence palpable. taking my hand to examine, she sighed. i braced myself for the criticism my jagged cuticles usually receive as they bear the likeness of my many moments of weakness. instead she enveloped my hand with hers, whispering "see, they're identical."