It took memory and a lot of love to write the story of my life.

In a novel, you can say whatever you imagine, move your characters however you want, and make them say whatever you think. However, when the people are real, you can't get it wrong, not even a little, since none of them can confirm or deny you anymore.

Fortunately, my sister is here, and her memory is infallible, intertwining with my life. As soon as she read what I wrote, she said to me, "This is how we lived, this is who those we knew and loved were." "Now," I said to her, "now that you've recalled our story, would you have wanted us to have lived another life?" "Not at all," she spontaneously replied. "Not at all," I added as well.