The front yard of the house was a vacant space with a large concrete sink conspicuously imposed in one corner. Grandma used to stand upon the red brick pavement in front of this sink every morning; cleaning vegetables for meals, washing clothes from the day before, or scrubbing pots and bowls in soapy water. When grandma was doing her chores at the sink, I would stagger into the yard a few feet from grandma, sit down and watch her hands maneuver among the items she was dealing with with fascinated eyes. Every now and then, along the clanks of hardware, some bubbles struggled free of gravity and rose int

Lunch was held at the little round table placed in the center of the kitchen. Usually, grandma would be at the table as I entered the room, kitting, strings of wool ascending tirelessly out of a basket near her feet as she skillfully transformed them into garments. While I climbed into a chair next to her, she would lay down her needlework atop the colorful balls of wool and start transporting plates of food to the table under my anticipatory watch. As soon as my bowl of rice arrived, I would launch a ravenous attack into the foods; chopsticks clicked hungrily amongst the different dishes as I mounted palatable delicacies on top of my steamed rice. In contrast, grandma ate her meal with suaveness; she had told me rules like "don't eat with your mouth open" "don't make noises when you eat", but they were luckily never enforced (at least not then). "Slow down," she would say benignly, watching me munch on my mouthful. I would mumble something in reply, but kept on devouring my favorites. Despite all these, my avarice still had its payback on me, I was never able to finish all the foods I hoarded in my bowl, thus by the end of each meal, I could find myself begging for grandma's pardon.

"Alright then, just go take your nap."

"I'm so full." I whined, meanwhile searching for traces of relent on grandma's face.

Some topics in this essay:
House Remember, basin water,