DECEMBER 20th, 2018
My throat chokes up as my eyes begin to pool with tears. I feel my knees buckle as my body folds onto my cold, wooden bedroom floor. The news of my grandma’s death fills my body with shock and reality. That feeling begins to flow through my bloodstream, slowly aching every joint ending with my toes. I roll over onto my back on the unsettling floor and reminisce, indulging myself with the last conversation my grandmother and I had.
“Focus on school and bring great honour to our family name. I love you,” grandma said in Vietnamese. I nod, and scoff at her remark, disregarding her advice. I kiss her forehead, tuck her into bed, and walk away as I fix her oxygen tube.
“I love you,” I whisper to myself as I grasp my grandma’s beaded jade bracelet, which was clearly too small for me. The pools of tears overflow, as they roll down my face, soaking the collar of my shirt. My blood starts to boil as the anger builds up inside me trying to distract me from the pain. The loss of the love enrages me, making me want to scream, but there’s a stinging lump in my throat. Slowly, the blood inside me hardens like cement as I lay there staring at my blank ceiling refusing to blink, because every time I do, I see her angelic smile. My body begins to feel cold as if the winter breeze breathes on my skin. The breeze flows through my body, taking my warmth with it, leaving me with nothing but the feeling of hopelessness. I start to find comfort on the hardwood and I pull my towel off my chair and use it like a blanket, where I eventually fall asleep to the soft hail hitting my window as silence echoes through the walls of the house.
JANUARY 19th, 2020
My dad offers to put a bamboo tree in my room but I complain about it being too big. He tells me that they were meant for my grandma’s neighbour that lived in the room next to hers in the senior home. But when he went there last she was relocated to one of two different rooms. Out of luck, he went to visit the wrong room and just went home.
“Let’s go right now,” I tell my dad. And so we got in the car and drove.
I could feel our hearts pounding as we parked the car. We go in and ask the person in the front for a certain lady. Room 376. I grip the potted bamboo and exhale shakily Grandma’s room. My dad and I stand in silence in the elevator as all you could hear is the humming of the elevator itself. Right. Right. Twenty paces. Left. It was as if I could do it in my sleep. I remember skipping through these halls and seeing the lively lavender plant and the blissful bird wallpaper. But the flowers droop brown and the birds appear to have flown off the wall. I quietly knock on the door and one of the lady’s family members opens it. My dad explains the gesture to what seems to be her daughter as she lets us in and tells her mom that we have come to talk to her. As my dad explains who we are, I imagine the room as if it was grandma’s. I notice the screw in the window to keep it shut. My dad did that. Grandma believed that at night someone would crawl into her room and steal her hot water boiler even though she was on the third floor. Even though the thing was twenty years old. The lady instructs me to set the bamboo on her bedside table. She tells us stories of them and remembers how they laughed and ate every meal together. How she would constantly ask how to use modern technology or translate to the nurses in English what she wanted. Her excitement was evident. It’s like she viewed her as a family in the senior home. Talking about her brightened up her room as if the lights became warmer, it was crazy! She told us my grandma’s stories from Vietnam that my dad didn’t know. This whole time I was thinking, “Wow, she has an amazing memory.”
The closure this brought filled a hole that I felt was perminate. Being in her room again and reliving the stories that I wish I heard from her was a moment of comfort. She left a sentimental crater on this earth that directly or indirectly affected all the people she has ever met. Especially me, I see herself within me and think of her when I get anxious. Every day I grasp the jade bracelet as a reminder to be grateful for what I have.
Dear Hadlen,
All I can say is that I truly loved every bit of this piece! I feel like it allows readers to relate to their experiences and tie it in with where they are from as well. I loved the use of imagery that you incorporated into your piece. I could imagine your grandmother’s home so vividly and so vibrantly. The way you had described things led my mind to be fully devoted to reading every single word, and it had intrigued me into wanting to know more every passing paragraph. I also liked the fact that you included the dates of when the events had occurred. It allows the story to move so smoothly, without the confusion of when the event had happened. I’ve also noticed the fact that you coloured the dialogue brown at the beginning of some paragraphs, which helps clearly emphasize your grandmother’s words. My favourite line of all was,” I start to find comfort on the hardwood and I pull my towel off my chair and use it like a blanket, where I eventually fall asleep to the soft hail hitting my window as silence echoes through the walls of the house.” I really loved how you used that last sentence of the paragraph to tie it in and once again included some imagery there as well.
Again, every bit of your piece was amazing. Something that would perfect it even more is fixing some of the spelling errors that were included. I also noticed as you were talking about the past of December 20, 2018, there were some areas where it had seemed like you were talking in the present. For example I would point out the second paragraph where your grandmother had been talking to you. That’s all I felt that really needed to be fixed, everything else seemed so perfect.
I would love to read more of your writing in the future as this was amazing to read.
Sincerely,
Mariam.