Damp Memories

My grandfather passed away. 

 

By his deathbed, family members held hands together. But I was not there. I was a pacific away from Taiwan.

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Grandpa and grandma raised me up. A family photo wall was decorated with flower baskets at his funeral. Pictures and videos were shared in family group chats. I feel light-headed, wandering alone in my small room here in San Francisco.

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My memories of grandpa are not only mediated, but often damp—over whiskeys and sudden tears. ​