29. Returning Home
Friday, January 27th, 2006My family make it a habit of returning to my grandmother’s house a day before Chinese New Year for a family reunion dinner. Things are pretty much the same this year, except that my grandmother was no longer with us to share the happiness and togetherness of the moment. However, I believe that she’ll always be up there watching and sharing our moments.
My grandmother’s house, built of gray stones, is located on a small plateau in the middle of rolling hills. Sunken into the land, it fits like a perfect piece in the puzzle of the checkered landscape.
About eight stepping stones away from the road is the door. A gigantic mango tree, only half as tall when I was born and even smaller when my father was young, shades the front of the house and blocks the wrap-around porch. Every time I return, the sweet mango scent from the tree triggers the memories of old times.
The house was the place where my cousins and I had dwelled in days of crazy play. We combated with the Indian boys using rubber-tree seeds, climbed hills, and looked at the setting sun by the lake. We spent comfortable hours in the beautiful landscape, knowing that the day was ours. The collage of the memories and smiling faces is still vivid in my mind.
The house which fosters comfort and happiness, in stores many chapters of my childhood life. It reflects a time when I could look messy, muddy and uncomfortable yet be so blissfully free of inhibitions. I trust that the house will always be there, and feel safe in knowing that I can always go back and revel in its character and uniqueness. It is my father’s home. It is my grandmother’s house.
Knowing that I’ll be returning to the house tomorrow, my heart leaps with extreme happiness and joy. Closing the memory book in my mind, I carry with me a sense of anticipation for tomorrow to come.