The summer of 2012 was the summer of new beginnings. For the first time in my life, I journeyed to my homeland, China. I met my relatives- more than I could ever count. But above all, I met my grandmother.

I had only seen pictures of her up to that point but the moment I saw her, I was overwhelmed by love and yet, I felt heartbroken. She was so frail, so delicate to the point that I thought she would break the moment I tried to touch her. She lost such an extreme amount of weight that the grandmother in my pictures almost seemed like an entirely different person. She wasn't able to go outside and although her body seemed to cry out against living, her eyes glistened from the moment she saw my mother and I. Her body radiated little warmth but when I reached out to hug her, I felt like the warmest person on earth. Little words could accurately portray the emotions that flowed through me at that time. Little more could describe how I felt when I met my grandfather.

For those who don't know, I lived in Wuhan, a ferociously hot place to be in the middle of summer. When I stepped out of the air-conditioned taxi, my glasses immediately fogged up due to the humidity outside. It took me less than an hour to drain every water bottle we had whilst climbing up the mountain to where my grandfather resided. Needless to say, I don't deal well with heat.

Like my grandmother, I never knew my grandfather outside of the pictures that my mother had shown me sporadically. My mother would always tell me how he would wait outside of my daycare for me to come out. Out of all of his grandchildren, he would dote on me the most. Whenever I heard this, I felt a surge of warmth come up from the bottom of my chest. However, this was bittersweet as I didn't have the faintest recollection of what he looked like. As far as I know, my memory has always failed me whenever I tried to remember my childhood.

My grandfather resides on the side of a mountain whose luscious forests remain green year-round. In this vast world that is constantly changing, time stood still within the pines and oaks of his home. As we hiked up the endless amount of stone stairs towards the top of the mountain, I noted how quiet his neighbors were. It was haunting, yet peaceful. There were other people there as well; they came to visit their loved ones. Some spoke happily while others shed tears. However all of them had something in common- their eyes spoke of loss. The loss of love. The loss of happiness. The loss of a memory that glowed so brilliantly, it could put the stars to shame. But there was hope. Hope that their loved ones now lived peacefully away from the clamor and injustices of modern society. Hope that their feelings could reach their loved ones. An endless amount of hope that caused the rain to fall from my eyes as I reached grandfather. I prayed for his happiness and I thanked him for all the things he had done for me, someone he unconditionally loved without knowing who I would be or what I would do. The loss of a loved one, without personally knowing them, is a strange feeling. However, not having the chance to speak to them, not even once, leaves a hole in my heart that even time could not heal.

You never know what you have until it is gone. Sometimes I utter that phrase to myself when I gaze out into the vast night sky. It puts me at peace as I realize that the little things I worry about everyday really amount to nothing in the end. What is important is the big picture; life is a privilege and it passes too fast. We are given too many opportunities that we take for granted. We are never able to utter the word "thank you" enough. There are so many things that we just don't realize until it is simply too late. Too late for a "thank you". Too late for a "goodbye". Too late for an "I love you".

And sometimes, the opportunity is never given. Sometimes, we fall short of speaking our thoughts and in time, we regret. The words that have been collected up through the years explode in a frenzy of lines and emotions. Not once have I been truly able to piece together he shattered pieces of my heart. Even if the last piece is found, the broken can never truly heal. But I do know that every day, he is there with me. No matter how many times I cry and no matter what I do, he will love me. He will love me, not for what I have or what kind of image I portray but for being me. He believes in me. He will be my strength-the push I need to keep moving forward. When I fall down, I can count on his warm hand. My hopes and dreams will become his and his will become mine. What more could a girl possibly want?
He believes in me.
And for that, there is nothing else that I need.
R.I.P Grandfather October 2005