Does time really make you forget everything?
My childhood memories are like a broken puzzle because my family moved a lot. But one piece of the puzzle I always keep is the time I spent at my grandma’s house since I was six. My parents were away working, so my grandma used her love to give me a whole childhood.
I often think about her and those warm, red years.
In my mind, my grandma was the perfect “grandma” from Southeast Asian stories. In photos, she always had short, curly hair with some gray in it. She wore glasses, and her eyes, behind the lenses, had seen a lot and had also seen all my mischief and growth.
She loved her comfortable shirt and pants. The light cloth had small flowers on it. This was the pattern of the tropical countries and showed her simple, practical life. Her wide pants let her walk fast when she was busy at home. Her simple slippers walked through the most peaceful years of my memory. She didn’t smile much in photos and looked serious, but behind that serious face was a calm and gentle power that could make a naughty child quiet in a second.
My grandma was a very traditional Chinese woman. To her, red meant celebration, protection, and strong rules. Every Chinese New Year, she would decorate the house with red. Red paper cuttings, red sayings, red lanterns… It was like she wanted to use all the red in the world to show her love for life and her family.
This love also became a “house rule” for us kids. If a child wore black during the New Year, my grandma’s face would get serious right away. It wasn’t about being superstitious. I understand now that she was simply protecting our home, hoping every child would have good luck and blessings. Her love for red became a color that will never fade in my life.
My grandma was a kind person, and everyone in the neighborhood respected her. But what she gave me was the warmth of daily life. I can still “see” her spot at the breakfast table in the morning: a cup of thick, black coffee with sugar, and a pair of crispy fried dough sticks. The smell of the coffee and the food is my safest memory of “home.”
At night, we had our special time. I would do a half-squat exercise with her in the living room. It was her habit to stay healthy, and I would copy her, sometimes making it funny or secretly laughing.
Of course, my childhood wasn’t always good. I remember very well the times she would yell at me for being naughty. But what’s strange is that when I think of her angry words now, I don’t feel bad. Instead, I feel warm inside. Because I know that behind every angry word was an old person’s most simple, but deepest, love for her grandchild.
Time is cruel. My grandma has been gone for many years. The thing I was most afraid of seems to be happening. My memories are like old photos soaked in water; my grandma’s face is slowly getting blurry in my mind…
Now, whenever I see that familiar red color in my life, those warm feelings come back.
Grandma, I don’t want to forget you.
This color of red is my endless longing for you, a letter that can never be sent but will never fade.
