To Grandmother's house we go!

I visited my Grandma today. I haven’t seen her since my Grandparents’ 50^th wedding anniversary in 2005. She still lives in the same house where my Mom and her 5 siblings were raised, in the house right next to my Grandpa’s old medical clinic. I come in to see her, and she is sitting in what used to be the lobby of the medical clinic, reading the newspaper. She hugs me and kisses me and tells me that I’m beautiful. I try not to cry. It’s been so long since the last time we were together.

My Grandma sometimes speaks to me in Tagalog. I’m glad that I understand what she’s saying. All three of our family’s spoken dialects-- Tagalog, Pangasinan, Ilocano-- have meshed under the umbrella of one Filipino language that I’ve never fully learned. Sometimes, I can’t even distinguish between the different dialects being spoken. I don’t know where words begin or end, but somehow when they are filtered through my ears, I can make out most of what’s being said. “Mahirap ang buhay,” Grandma tells me. “Life is hard,” in the Philippines, and she’s always praying for my success.

I look around at all the family photos framed on the wall. Some are in black and white from decades ago when my Grandparents were still young and my Mom and her siblings had their entire lives before them. I see the family portraits my Mom sent over through the years and a big picture of our house after it was remodeled in 2003. My senior portrait is displayed on the desk.

I watch my Grandma getting ready to have lunch with the family. We are only going across the street to my Uncle’s house, but she is still meticulous with her preparation. She cleanses her face with a cotton pad and applies face powder, then expertly twists up her hair and secures it with bobby pins. Even in her age, she’s still young to me as I watch her get ready. When she’s ready to go, I escort her across the street. She holds onto my arm as we walk, but she is still strong.