It’s been a relaxed existence here. Aside from spending time with my grandma when she’s awake, making sure she eats throughout the day, and the occasional visit to the hospital, there’s no set schedule for anything. I’ve only been to this house a handful of times in my life, but I feel remarkably comfortable. There’s no formal need to sit at the dinner table until everyone is finished eating. There’s no obligation to talk to someone. No one feels the need to entertain me. I can nap when I want. I can raid one of the three fridges when I wake up at night and can’t fall asleep. I can walk around in my pajamas all day. I can disappear for hours to write. Like we’re actually family, even though I barely see these people.
My grandma tells me feel at home because we’re “our own people” as it’s said in Chinese. Even though I always understood the expression, I’ve never really felt it until now.