Perhaps life is a perpetual funeral. We are helpless wanderers, lost in an unfamiliar forest, and nature steals away our essence bit by bit. We must continue on, and our fate is to keep moving forward, without even the opportunity to mourn our own loss. Our innocence, hopes, smiles and memories, youth and hearts, fathers and mothers, we leave a part of ourselves in the earth every day. The story of grief begins with the rising of the yellow sun. This is a story that repeats itself every day.