(Image Source: Juan Pablo Serrano: Pexels)
My grandma is a small woman with fair skin and short wavy hair. She is powerful and beautiful, often considered the head of our family. She has her faults, but I love her dearly and spent my early years with her while my mom and dad worked. She would care for me, play with me and feed me copious amounts of delicious meticulously home-cooked food. Though my family’s immigration separated us for the last decade, reducing contact to weekly FaceTime calls with bad connection and occasional summer visits to my home country, our relationship has not changed. Now, she is visiting us here in Canada. I am so grateful for her willingness to undertake the arduous trip despite the difficulties of such a significant change in surroundings at her age; I am ecstatic for this chance to spend time with her.
My questions about life are never-ending, and my grandmother’s wisdom flows perpetually, addressing all of my inquiries somehow in a strong cascade. She lectures me on various topics, often without my having to ask, like a one-way interview where I ask in thoughts and she answers in life lessons. It’s almost like a one-person podcast on topics she’s passionate about, sharing hard-earned information that could only be gained through experience, as though she owes me the knowledge. Her words are special to me and I regard them with great respect. I want to remember them forever.
She tells me she is sorry that she has nothing else to offer me. No generational wealth, no priceless family heirloom. But she doesn’t know that her words and presence are more important to me than anything tangible.
If I had to sum up all that she has told me, her life motto would be to take advantage of life instead of letting it take advantage of you. I am sad to say that my grandma did not always follow her own advice. This motto only became clear to her through regret for everything she could’ve done. Often, advice born of regret is the most profound.
She wants me to consume so much knowledge that I am on the edge of being overeducated, gathering as many degrees as I can. My grandma preaches this. She never attended school, having married very early in her teenage years because of an abusive stepmother — a story I’ve only ever heard bits of from my mom.
She urges me not to marry early and let marriage interfere with my education. She tells me that the right person will come to me, that empty words shouldn’t fool me, and to ensure that the right person comes from a good family. Always slightly distrusting, which is probably wise, she emphasizes that people are not always who they say they are or what they seem to be. Funnily enough, her more recent view on marriage is that there isn’t necessarily any need for it. She tells me that I am “the man” (her words, not mine), which is an intriguing conclusion for a generally traditionally-minded person (I think she simply doesn’t want yet another failed marriage in the family). While she sometimes expresses her contempt for me moving out at 17 for university and gaining my independence so early — when it is more traditional for people, especially girls, to move out after getting married in my culture — I think she also feels a sense of pride in that.
She tells me to choose my friends with care, scolding me for being too trusting and always trying to see the best in people, because it makes me vulnerable. She says to ask more rather than tell. Keep your goals, dreams, successes and failures to yourself, and understand that few truly want the best for you.
She uses the metaphor of gold when referring to my sister and I. It seems like high praise but in her eyes — though far from the truth — we are angels who could do no wrong. She tells us that we are gold, and we should surround ourselves with gold friends, future partners and people. Although difficult to find, we should take the time to search and not settle for pyrite, because then we might tarnish too.
As a chronic people-pleaser, grandma tells me to speak up straight away if something is wrong rather than putting it off to another time. She tells me to not mindlessly agree with everything. She reminds me that boundaries are important and can be calmly and gracefully set with a smile.
My grandma is a stubborn woman and she urges me to not let people boss me around, change my opinions and tell me what to do. She did not falter under people’s judgement when it came to her beliefs and her choices about her own life, when they were ultimately no one’s business but her own.
She urges me to spend because what good is saving when you are not living life by being frugal? She preaches prioritizing yourself and having a high degree of self-worth. If there is an easier way, you should take it, even if it is more expensive. I would say she realized the importance of this pretty late, as she has often overexerted herself. As long as I can remember, she has tackled large projects such as rearranging her house, doing extensive spring cleaning all by herself, or earlier, cooking for my uncle’s 100-guest wedding all by herself instead of catering. It’s a particular kind of hyper-independence she passed down to my mother, who passed it down to me. It’s not worth exhausting your body and mind when you could save precious time, effort and energy.
She applies the same mindset to food and diet. She urges me to splurge on nutritious, hearty food, to eat fruit — lots of fruit — and never go on restrictive diets. “Eat a balanced portion of good food rather than large portions of ‘junk.’” Being a foodie and the most wonderful cook, she tells me to enjoy a variety of food, giving me lots of cooking tips and tricks because “if you don’t enjoy it when you’re young, there will come a time when you can no longer enjoy all the foods you like as easily.”
Reflecting on her life, Grandma says it wasn’t the best, but she tried to make the best of the cards she was dealt. Thinking about all the “would’ves, could’ves, should’ves,” she tells me to use, eat, wear and take the best — whether it be money, food, clothes or opportunities — to live my life to the fullest, something I aspire to do.
