Status: Searching for Co-Authors (Please message Teddysaur if you wish to be one.)
What Started as a Crush
Confession #3
When I was very young, my grandfather and grandmother lived with me and my family. Apparently, as I grew a little older, I seem to have noticed that they constantly fight, and they don't always talk to each other unless they want to complain to each other. I was two, and since my parents both worked back then, I stayed behind with my grandmother, and because she is always forgetful, she'd ask, "Did I ever feed you lunch?" and she'd go on and feed me 5 times daily (I was a chubby toddler back then, for that.)
One day, there was this huge fight that went on for awhile. I was standing on the door frame, and my grandfather was sitting on the single couch in front of the television screen as it blinked out colors out at him. My grandfather tends to do that for most of his days, ending up sitting in the living room on weekdays, and during the evening he walks to my other grandparents' house to go sit on their porch (the breeze seemed to hit that spot more than our own porch.)
Well, they started yelling at each other, and knowing me at the age of 3 and able to walk, I just stood there dumbfounded and holding my small pink stuffed bunny.
Eventually, it stopped, and I followed my grandmother into my room where she sat on my bed and began to cry silently. I sat next to her, sitting there silently for an hour, as I patted her hand as she did with mine at times, and I'd keep asking if she were alright. Her reply to me was only a soft smile and whispers.
---
There was one day, when I was four, that my grandmother had to leave to move back to our hometown in the Philippines. One morning when I found a suitcase lying against the kitchen wall, I asked who was going somewhere to my dad. He didn't reply, but he just picked me up and put me back down before going back to cooking breakfast.
By the time a van came to our house, I saw my grandmother outside as I sat on the couch looking out the window, walking towards the open van with the same exact suitcase.
I ran outside and began to chase her, but I eventually tripped once or twice before I could reach her. My dad was holding me back, but I couldn't stop yelling the name that I called her.
"Nanay! Nanay!" I bawled frantically, trying to reach for her with my small, child hands.
From the stories to this day, she as well didn't stop crying all the way to the airport. Our love for each other is strong, and today she's sick on a wheelchair, and she isn't able to talk. I call her at least once a week, because I love her still to this day.
(My grandfather, I loved him as well. I used to sit with him on his single couch, on his lap and watch television with him. He ended up going to the hospital when I was in Kindergarten and staying there for three years before he died, but I visited him as much as I could. I'll never forget that twinkle in his eyes whenever I looked at him.)
I love you Nanay. I love you Tatay. ~
One day, there was this huge fight that went on for awhile. I was standing on the door frame, and my grandfather was sitting on the single couch in front of the television screen as it blinked out colors out at him. My grandfather tends to do that for most of his days, ending up sitting in the living room on weekdays, and during the evening he walks to my other grandparents' house to go sit on their porch (the breeze seemed to hit that spot more than our own porch.)
Well, they started yelling at each other, and knowing me at the age of 3 and able to walk, I just stood there dumbfounded and holding my small pink stuffed bunny.
Eventually, it stopped, and I followed my grandmother into my room where she sat on my bed and began to cry silently. I sat next to her, sitting there silently for an hour, as I patted her hand as she did with mine at times, and I'd keep asking if she were alright. Her reply to me was only a soft smile and whispers.
---
There was one day, when I was four, that my grandmother had to leave to move back to our hometown in the Philippines. One morning when I found a suitcase lying against the kitchen wall, I asked who was going somewhere to my dad. He didn't reply, but he just picked me up and put me back down before going back to cooking breakfast.
By the time a van came to our house, I saw my grandmother outside as I sat on the couch looking out the window, walking towards the open van with the same exact suitcase.
I ran outside and began to chase her, but I eventually tripped once or twice before I could reach her. My dad was holding me back, but I couldn't stop yelling the name that I called her.
"Nanay! Nanay!" I bawled frantically, trying to reach for her with my small, child hands.
From the stories to this day, she as well didn't stop crying all the way to the airport. Our love for each other is strong, and today she's sick on a wheelchair, and she isn't able to talk. I call her at least once a week, because I love her still to this day.
(My grandfather, I loved him as well. I used to sit with him on his single couch, on his lap and watch television with him. He ended up going to the hospital when I was in Kindergarten and staying there for three years before he died, but I visited him as much as I could. I'll never forget that twinkle in his eyes whenever I looked at him.)
I love you Nanay. I love you Tatay. ~