Anyways, my cousin recently uploaded old photos into facebook. She found a picture of my paternal grandparents and tagged all of us.

I've never met my grandfather as he past away when I was only 1 month old. My brother, who was only 1 back then, was the last person he saw and talked to. My grandfather was just lying on his bed, and my brother went up to him, asking him if he want to smoke (if I'm not wrong) and he just lay down there motionless. Not sure about the details, heard the story from the adults.

As my cousins, siblings and I slowly grew up, going to my grandmother's house was a weekly thing. The adults would usually go chat and drink or don't know do what, while the kids would stay at home, playing games on PlayStation or go to the playground to play. Catching, Ice Man, Blind Man whatever. The maid, Rina, whom all of us were very close too because she worked with us for a total of 6 years, would bring us there and to look after us. After which, all of us would go back to my grandmother's house for dinner, where we'd have a competition to see who eat the fastest, and everyone of us would want our grandmother to feed us because whoever she fed always win.

If we had a stayover, when most of us would get ready to sleep, she would ask me to come to the kitchen, and ask me to eat the leftover food (which I did and hence the size of my body -.-). I never understood why she's just stare at me eat, while drinking her stout and play this particular card game she always play when she had nothing to do. She'd just smile and keep asking me to eat, and so I did (how innocent and young was I).

So it was primary six when suddenly my dad's side of the family had some issues with money. So they had to sell my grandmother's house in Ang Mo Kio and she had to live with my family. The maid, Rina, went back to Indonesia and another maid (whose name I cannot remember) came.

The only thing I regretted was that I didn't really welcomed her presence in my house. It was awkward and I didn't know what to say to her. I was too young to understand.

So came one day she fell down in my house and I vividly remember the scene that blood was all over the floor and she was lifted up by my dad. She was sent to the hospital and since then, (if I did not remember correctly) she never came back.

One morning I woke up and my dad came in to tell the news. My sister couldnt believe it at first but we did in the end when we realised the funeral was downstairs. I couldnt believe that I was having fun with my other cousins during the funeral. Like I said, I was only 12. The day she was cremated was freaking hell. Everyone, including me, was crying their eyes out. It was such a painful sight.

Since then every year, my family had always been going to the temple where her ashes are to pay respects. For 5 years, I just treated it as a routine and kinda a chore actually. It was only last year when I saw her picture on the tomb, I cried.

Maybe it's that I've regretted what I've done, to not appreciate her at all when she's alive. But I think at that point of time I was too immature to think so much. No point blaming myself as it's all in the past. Look at that picture above strikes me that seriously I miss her a lot.

Looking at the photo comments in facebook by my cousins and aunts/uncles, I can really tell that they miss her a lot too.

I miss you.