My earliest memory is of playing alone in my home on the second floor of a small ironworks factory that smelled of metal and oil. In the memory, neither my father nor my mother is there. I am simply in the room I was given, playing with stuffed animals and building blocks, listening to the intermittent sound of machinery echoing from below. The stuffed animals were a bear and a rabbit with one ear missing. The bear says, "The triangular building block is missing." The rabbit says, "Triangular blocks don't make good foundations, so we don't need them." I say, "Triangular blocks are for the roof." The metallic clanking echoes through the room bathed in the setting sun, and eventually, we all fall silent. "Look outside at night. There's only one black cloud," the bear says as it places a square block on top as a roof. "Yeah." Whether I ever saw that cloud or not, I no longer remember. The triangular building block that became my treasure after turning up in the corner of the room on the day we moved. Every time I pick it up, I still look out the window and search for that single black cloud.