Hey xanga. Sorry I haven't been here in a while. I got to see a lot of the world, a lot of the people, and a lot of things that I never wanted to see. I haven't been writing because I don't know what to write. There's so much.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the impossible, about what could (or would) never happen. It's funny because it has almost become a source of motivation that keeps me running. Almost. On the other hand, it exhausts me to the extreme, and to escape this mental exhaustion, I would resort back to my mechanical, every day work. Then I would think: is this it? Do we just continue on and hide from everything impossible only to settle for the possible? Do I break out of my comfort zone just for maybe a minute of spark that's bound to die down (and possibly burn the whole place down)?

And don't tell me everything's possible. That's bullshit.

My grandparents are here for my aunt's wedding (congrats congrats). I don't care what my sister says, but I know for a fact that I'm grandpa's favorite. And I'll tell you why, sister. Back when I was little, I refused to sit next to grandpa at dim sum so I could play gameboy next to my sister. My aunt yelled at me. To this day, I still remember what my aunt said, and I still remember the wrinkly, tired look on grandpa's face when I glanced over after my aunt was done yelling at me. Yesterday, I subconsciously sat next to grandpa at dim sum. It didn't even occur to me that I did that until I sat down. I guess you can call it classical conditioning haha. I just call it love for grandpa. We used to play cards. I can't remember what we played now, maybe I didn't even play but just sat there on his bed and watched him play solitaire. Once in a while, I would look at the shelf at the front of the bed. It was black. It had pictures. Of what? I don't remember. I told my young self I would buy grandpa an electronic card shuffling machine. But I had no money. We never talked much. I barely talked as a little kid. I didn't like to talk; everyone else was too loud. Grandpa never talked much either. Maybe that's why I liked grandpa so much. With him, I never needed to talk. I never needed to make myself stand out, I never needed to sweet talk my way through, yet I was still his most precious grandchild. 

And I've already forgotten this, but grandpa remembers. He said I used to cling onto his leg and not want to leave when it was time to go. Grandma said whenever they opened the door, I would figure out that it was time to leave, and I would cry and cling on some more.

Yesterday, he handed me a banana. When I was little, he would hand me all sorts of fruits. If I didn't like one, he would hand me another kind. He figured out after a while that I liked kiwi. But I think after so many years, he's forgotten that I almost always turn down the banana.

He remembers that I used to play with the fish tank. That I almost fell in. That they had to throw the giant fish away.

He said that one time I was really skinny and had to go to the hospital. Mom and Dad insisted that was sister. Grandpa and Grandma insisted that it was me. It probably wasn't me, but the concerned tonality was cute.

I was reading Amy Tan, and she said that memories are self-beautified images of our past. Maybe. Maybe everything I remember about grandpa didn't happen the way I think I remember it. Maybe everything grandpa remembers didn't happen the way he remembers it. But to be able to bind a relationship by a sort of fairy-tale past, that makes it all the more interesting and precious, no?

I wonder what kids nowadays think about.