One soothing July evening while I was humming a tune to congratulate myself for being born into a Poor Class family, my grandma ushered me to her room and told me the following story. "We should thank your great-grandpa for picking up the habit of smoking opium.” She took a match and lit the small oil lamp on her old, still elegant dressing table. “Selling his land. Paying for his habit. Otherwise we would be in the Landlord Class."