Sarisa can hardly remember her mother's appearance.
After she went to sea, she once heard an old sailor with gray hair say in a tavern that memories are like a fishing net trailing behind a ship, entangled at the bottom with only the fiercest and plumpest fish, along with seaweed and driftwood not even worth as much as garbage, while the countless ordinary days slip away like water through the net, leaving not a single drop.
At first, she didn't take it seriously when she heard it; now as she thinks about it, it seems indeed so.
Perhaps because her mother passed away when she was still very young, Sarisa doesn't remember any quarrels or other conflicts with her.
Everything about her mother, in her memory, is warm, beautiful, and happy.
But on the other hand, exactly because she was too young then, although she could remember events, her mind broke the memories into fragmented pieces over time.
