On weekends, I prefer a peculiar escape: the supermarket. Drafting a shopping list, wheeling a trolley through aisles, and filling a trunk was for more than survival, it’s a ritual with my grandma. Back home, her special noodle recipe smelled like happiness and tasted like love.
I used to be very close with my grandmother as she was my major care-taker during childhood. But when I transitioned to middle school, burdened with endless homework and class activities. I could only visit her twice a month. Our conversations grew simpler…stranger. We’d repeat similar dialogues, knowing there was so much more to say. Even when I stayed with her in the hospital when she was sick, that gap still existed, though our concern kept us close. After she recovered, I wanted to spend more quality time with her as I started to realize how quickly she’s aging. But I knew I got to change my approach.
"Let’s go to the supermarket together,” I made a rare invitation to my grandma one Friday, when I'd finished school earlier. I knew going to the supermarket and shop for our family was an integral part of her daily life, and this time, I wouldn’t want to be lazy and wait for her delicious noodle.
Those rolling trollies rolled back childhood memories. She still recalled my favorite snacks; I bought flower tea for her inflamed throat. I vented academic woes, and she’d share encouraging stories. “All you’ll remember are happy memories,” she consoled, “as long as you create them”. Her persuasive words humbled the academic dogma I’d developed. In return, I’d listen to her concerns for our family members while carrying the heavy items for her.
Going to the supermarket with my grandma has become habitual. We keep it hush, as if it is a secret agreement between us. Our generation tends to grow apart from our elder relatives.
However, I’m proud to have retained this relationship; my care and commitment to her is undoubtedly the source of my persistence and commitment in all my endeavors. She inspires me to be the person I wish to become.
