January 02, 2026
On the way home, I always sing. Even when I was as little as a snot, when I was minor, and even now, I sing songs, especially when it rains and no one can hear me. This became severe when I lived in a remote area, where it was often dreadfully silent. In those summers, my grandpa was in his 80s, he used to always befriend the sun and stay in and around the door. So when I came home singing those Katy Perry songs, my grandpa would always clap and hype me up with a smile on his face. He thought his granddaughter was rightfully bonkers. But everybody is insane inside. My grandpa is 100 years old. He ever bends yet still turns his prayer wheel while chanting the mantra. Except, this time, he is married to his bed. He only searches for the sun occasionally. His wrinkles have increased and his hair is as white as the clouds. Thank god he still has his good hair. He still looks dashing. But one aspect of oldness that saddens most of us, is his memory that is fading. When I went back home last october, he stared at me intently and could never recall who his crazy grand daughter was. When my mother reminded him, he said oh,yes but I could see it in his eyes. He did not remember. Thats the part I am distressingly frightened about.
L
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