I believe my grandmother is dying. I don’t have many details, as I haven’t been well informed (though I’m not sure that I want to be). I tried to visit about three months ago, but my work and circumstances prevented me from going. I’m going to Hong Kong this Christmas, which should be amazing, and hopefully I’ll be able to see my grandmother one last time. When I spoke to her on the phone, which is always as awkward as ever, she sounded very light-headed. My mother told me that she sounded more healthy than before.

I once talked to Ms. Patricia ______ (I can’t believe I forget her last name) about my grandparents. I told her that I always felt like I loved my grandparents, and that I was always worried about their well-being, even though I never really had a life with them. They briefly raised me when I was too young to remember much. I have always wondered whether I would cry if they should die. One can always say that one won’t cry, but when the situation arises, things can be quite different.

I also told her that I hoped that they would die at a time that was convenient for me. This worried her. I asked myself, “Is this really what I wish? Will I feel differently when the time comes? Have I truly become so cerebral, so engulfed in a Lermontovian nihilism, that I can say such a thing?”. I’m not even sure if this is something I should be ashamed of. I mean, these are people that I’m not close to. Is it possible to love someone simply by blood? I believe it is; I know people who only know how to love by blood. However, it is not possible for me. In fact, blood has no bearing on what I feel for a person. I wish I could even begin to understand this. I believe that my grandparents love me. I feel it in the way that they look at me, the way they treat me. I always wonder if anyone else has the same confusion. Do I love them as they love me?

I can’t tell.