My bedding lay on the ground, spotted with mildew and piled up like filthy rags.A wave of bitterness rose in my chest.The damp season in my hometown lasted for months, and bedding that wasn't aired regularly always developed a heavy, moldy smell.Every winter and summer break during college, I came home to find my room reeking of damp.Ryan's blankets, meanwhile, were always soft, fluffy, and warm from the sun.I had asked my mother about it more than once, and she always gave me the same answer."You chose the wrong room. Your window faces the shaded courtyard, so of course your blankets get moldy. Ryan was smart enough to pick the sunny room, so his bedding stays warm."But I had never been allowed to choose. My room was simply the one left over.I brought my heel down hard on the mildewed bedding."If it's garbage, then I don't want it."I didn't want any of them either.My mother's expression changed."How can you talk like that? Those are good quilts made from good c
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