me: Sometimes I think I’ve had so many ancestors, the world couldn’t hold all of their dead bodies. But I guess some were burned.
M: This is not a night topic.
me: And the world is really big. Do you think my ancestors love me?
M: Ancestors love the living.
me: What do they do for us?
M: They make the sun rise. The crops grow.
me: I don’t farm. Do my white ancestors love me?
M: All your ancestors love you.
me: What if they’re racist? Can my ancestors see me?
M: Do you mean literaly?
me: It’s good that they’re dead–ancestors are supposed to be dead. That’s their job…will I be an ancestor someday?
M: Yes.
me: Will I love the living? What if I hate them? Ungrateful bastards!
M: Ancestors love the living.
