I apologize for not writing for so long...actually, yesterday, I wrote a lot of things, except that English sites don't load fast in China, so I lost everything I wrote, much to my dismay. There's a lot of things I want to say, but I can't find the right words to write it down, or get into the right mood to let it out. Life is truly bitter medicine at times, eh?
Also...what do you do if you realize that the closest people next to you might not be there in the unknown future? What do you do if you can't possibly save that person's life, and you can't be near that person either? I don't like believing in death; I mean, it's...that...nostalgic kind of thing that I can't stand. My grandma has lung cancer and breast cancer at the same time. Maybe I've mentioned it before, but I still have to say that I'm not much of a dramatic person. When I meet someone who has some kind of bitterness or something that holds them back from being happy, I'm not the person they should look for. I'm the kind of person that doesn't like to dwell on things that make people unfortunate, because actually, there's a lot of things that make a person fortunate. So, in a way, I act...I don't know...ignorant? It's not that I don't care about her illness. It's just that I keep quiet; I don't talk. What's the point? No matter how much I cry, laugh, talk, or whatever, it isn't going to save her life.
I actually care a lot though. I'm not afraid to say that. In every essay in elementary school where you had to write about your most important person, your favourite family member, I wrote about my grandma. In a paragraph in fifth grade, I wrote about the stars. I wrote about how my grandmother and the stars were alike. They can both light up the darkness. When I was four, I was plagued with nightmares about dummies and things like that. I can remember going to her room. She's the only one that can cook the best food without putting a single piece of garlic, ginger, or onion inside; just because I don't eat it. She can sing, she can paint, and she used to be a doctor! There's a lot of things she used to be able to do, but now, she can't. And when you look at someone like that, it's a bit painful, even for me. At night, she can't sleep in the same room as us because lung cancer makes her cough really badly. I'm a light sleeper; every night, no matter how far away, I can hear her cough until it echoes inside my brain. That's the most painful moment; when I have to listen to that coughing. She can no longer cook. She can barely even talk.
Is it fate? Last year, when I was going to sleep, I had a strange feeling. First let me explain; there is a special tomato and egg noodle dish that only my grandma can cook to the best taste. It's a taste that I can never forget. So last summer, I had a feeling that I had to ask her how to make it, because I didn't know how long she had. Last year was the first time I ever saw my grandma as someone weak. That night, I asked her for the recipe, and I ingrained it into my mind. When she dies, I will cook a bowl of noodles...over and over again until I get the right taste. In front of her tombstone, I'm going to put a bowl of noodles. That's all. I am the only other person in this world who knows how to cook that kind of sauce. It's secret that only two people in this world share.
Today is actually her birthday. It is only her 68th birthday. Our family is going to celebrate it really well, because facing reality, it may be her last one. Aging is really scary, isn't it? I took my last AR test in my entire life. My grandma is having her last birthday. It's always last, last, last...
Some people will probably ask me: Why do you think your grandmother is only worth a bowl of noodles? I will answer: Because that bowl of noodles is ours alone. It has become my life!
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