"Mommy mommy, grandma makes me eat a rat again!"

I was about complaining a little.. writing about how tired up I was.. it's when, out of the blue, I have that thought of my grandma. She ever taught me "It's not necessary to public your weakness and sadness", she was a wise woman who lived till age of 105, I shall agree with her.

So I decided to dedicate this post to my spiritual guardian- my grandma. She was the first loved-one that I lost. When I was born, she was the only grandparent that I had. I was not around when her soul embarked, for Asian, it's such a heavy thought.

My grandma is a beautiful woman. Her hair was dramatically long that it touched the ground. She lived kindly and maintained a healthy diet. Like a typical grandparent, she liked to nag, she would nag for an hour just to make me eat banana. She lived through Vietnam Wars, and as the habit and lifestyle in the past, she stocked food. She stocked food for her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, even though the period of poverty after wars, eventually had passed, she maintained that habit. Whenever I visited her house, she often excitedly offered me the biggest banana which its skin had turn black in colour or (but it was alright in within). I call that banana- a rat. I hated it. I usually cried and sought for help from my mom "Mommy mommy, grandma makes me eat a rat again" and my mom usually encouraged me to finish the rat. Now.. I would do everything to have that rat again, I would have it like nothing on the earth would taste that delicious.

My grandpa was a political practitioner and prisoner during Vietnam War, my grandma therefore was the breadwinner of the family. Not so longer after the war ended, my grandpa passed away of sickness, things went extremely tough. The government wanted to re-locate my family, as my grandpa was no longer around to continue serving the nation (a bitter laugh I have at it). At that point of time, it had to be my grandma to stand firmly for everyone. She kept the house and kept everything to not fall apart. Life gave her a lot of lemons but she had made the very best lemonade out of it.

When I was home, I often read Buddist scriptures for her. I did not enjoy reading the texts, but I enjoyed listening to her interpret them. Things are simple and transparent in her words. In Vietnam culture, there are so many complicated rituals that practiced accordingly to the hierarchy and lineage. I shamefully admit that I'm very bad at it, so close to zero knowledge, but my grandma herself is a book of everything. From her stories, I'm connected to the tradition of the family and history of the country. Without a doubt, how lost I was when she was no longer around.. but I have been too lucky to have her in life.. too lucky!