I remember my grandmother as both affectionate and strict. She had a tough exterior but a soft heart, and she expressed her love in every action. She never said the words, “I love you,” but everything she did was an embodiment of love.
Her love manifested in numerous ways — holding hands while crossing the street, the small lamp guiding me home after evening classes, the late-night bowl of noodles when we were hungry, the shell-less shrimp she prepared, the adhesive bandage that appeared instantly when I got hurt, and the scolding when I was careless.
Even though my grandmother passed away quite some time ago, every time I taste the dishes she loved to cook, it brings me back. I thought time would fade everything, but the longer time passes, the more deeply ingrained these habits have become, making it impossible to escape their emotional pull.
— Ingrid
Image: public domain via Wikimedia Commons
