My grandpa died today... it was a sudden death, apparently. He was hospitalized last week because of heart pains, and everyone thought he would be fine; he was stabilized, he was eating. Apparently, the doctors don't understand why he passed away because he seemingly recovered. Last week, when I found out that he was hospitalized, my mom asked me if I wanted to go with my dad to the hospital to pay him a visit. I asked her what was wrong with him, and she just said that he was experiencing some pains and was fine now. Since I thought he was going to be just fine, I declined to have some more sleep. Now I really regret not going. Because now, I don't remember the last time I saw him. The last time I called him 爷爷 and make small talk. He was a funny old man, racked with senility. His hearing had gone bad; I had to shout for him to listen because sometimes he would be too stubborn to pay attention. His eyesight was poor; he had to get lasik eye surgery just to see again. Everyone made fun of him because of his stubbornness.

It was probably his stubbornness that finally did him in. He would insist of going to Chinatown even though he lived in Sunset. Perhaps it's because that's where we made our first home, and grandpa just never left it. I remember all the little cafes that we would eat at. He would buy me a long rice roll with pork or a bowl of congee with pork and aged eggs. I would always give him the eggs because I didn't like the black color and thought they were poisonous. He would take me to Chinese school, shop a little, and then come right back to pick me up. Sometimes he picked me up from the bus stop from elementary school. Wherever I went, he was there.

We used to go to the park all the time. He would always push me on the swings; I loved that feeling of flying through the sky. (of course, when you're small, the ground seems like it's miles away.) He would push me until I finally learned how to swing on my own. I was really proud of that. I always thought I was an excellent swinger. I didn't need him anymore. He would just stand back and watch.

Grandpa also did taichi. I thought it was silly; it looked like a bunch of old people just dancing slowly. It was graceful, but as a child I didn't hold any interest. I tried doing it on my own, but it was boring and I went back to the playground. Now that I recall, it was a beautiful form of exercise. The control, the concentration that a young me would not have understood.

And then everyone moved. We left that house on Greenwich and moved to different places in the city. He moved with my second aunt over to Sunset and I saw him less. I didn't live with him anymore. It was the same with Grandma. I thought it was a shame, but, maybe I was naive in my thinking. Maybe they were immortal and I could always have the same relationship as the one I had when I was a child.

Over the years, I saw his health deteriorate. But my grandpa was never a weak man. He was standing tall, with a big build and nothing ever seemed to stop him. I remember how he used to carry bags of groceries as if it were nothing. But, I also remember when he got his hearing aids. It was a shock to me. Here he was, this man, whom I've always seen strength in, was succumbing to mortality. Then his eyes got bad. Granted, he always needed reading glasses to read those newspapers that he loved. (We would always purchase a copy of 星岛日报 on the way back from school) Only when he had to carry a cane was when I realized, this is an old man. During a visit to grandma's grave, I had to walk slowly with him back to the car. I then realized, this was the man who I had to walk quickly to keep up to as a child, and now, it felt odd that we were moving no quicker than a snail. It hurt to see the work of nature acting on a human being...

I mentioned before, my grandpa was really stubborn. He would always wear like five sweaters, a hat and a jacket. It was ridiculous to see and my family always made fun of him. The most brutal (after probably grandma) was the oldest aunt. She is really annoying and naggy. Always telling grandpa what a fool he was for wearing so many clothes, what a senile old man he was for going to Chinatown, and how he couldn't do anything right. I'm glad I'm not that kind of person; otherwise, my guilt would never leave me. But through the family's insults and constant nagging, he never lost that innocent smile of his. Perhaps it was just a senile old smile, but his smile always seemed to say, "It's okay. I know they all love me. I'll just humor them into thinking that I was senile." And he would laugh it off.

I'm crying now... but I have to get all this stuff off my chest. I'm so afraid that I'll forget who he was, what he felt like, his face. Everything. When my grandma died, I realized that I can't see her anymore and when that feeling washed over me, I couldn't picture her face anymore. I couldn't smell her anymore. I couldn't hear her voice. And, it feels the same way. I don't remember that smile he would give me, I can't hear his laugh. His face seems fuzzy in comparison to the world. I'm scared that I'll forget all the memories of him. And that's why I have to write this down. It's kind of funny because I never really thought about my grandpa till now. I mean, don't get my wrong, I love him and will always cherish these memories that I have of him.. but I'm scared that one day, I'll stop in my tracks and realize that I don't remember what kind of person he was. I'm scared.


Crazy weather.

So the weather in SF was crazy stormy yesterday. I woke up and there was a really strong wind and it was pouring rain. There were blackouts all over the city. I heard this loud crack and bang and saw that the fence across the street had fallen down. On the way to Costco, I saw a bunch of signs that were broken, even the big ones that advertised what stores and restaurants where in the area. A whole bunch of trees had their branches stripped.

Yeah, it was crazy.

[Also, not a organized entry, but whatever.]

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I'm so tired. I've been out like crazy this winter break. Not that I mind, but once I get back to Davis, I'm gonna be pissed bored. At least there's a heater there.


So I played DDR for the first time in about 5 years and I suck. Lol, as much as I say I hate the game, I kind of wanna play now. >__>


The more I talk about you, the more that you drift away, the more I just wanna give everything up and let you go. Whatever happened to you? Why don't you ever let us into your life? What happened to the old you? The one who would always seem so cheerful?

Why do you keep pushing us away?

Did we do something wrong? :(

.. or have you just forsaken us?

Family woes.

You know, I've never actually said I hate my family, but there are so many problems that are present that it makes me really sad. There's always some screaming going on, some kind of argument and while my family doesn't resort to any physical violence, it still hurts when loud words are exchanged. I think the root of the problems comes from my brothers. I feel like both of them are acting way more immature than they are. Both are spoiled and totally lack any kind of empathy. And as much as it hurts to think about it, I'm pretty sure it's because my parents didn't bring them up properly. They've never exercised any kind of discipline on them, especially the youngest one. I can see him running wild when he gets to be a teenager. And I'm kind of tired of trying to fix everything. Sometimes they listen to me, but frankly I don't have the same authority as parents would, you know? I'm so sick of how everyone fights with grandma. I know that she's really immature and even I sometimes gets in fights with her. But when words like "I can't wait to die!" and "Then go die." are exchanged, it makes me wanna cry. Why is everyone so reckless in their speech. When she does finally go, I don't want my brothers to finally grow up and realize what kind of stuff they used to say and how that affected everyone.

Sigh. I don't know what I can do. I'm kind of glad I have college to keep my mind of this. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my family to bits and my relationship with my parents have never been better, but as a whole, I feel like we're lacking something really important. I just wish everyone would stop yelling so I would feel less hopeless in the recovery of my family.