This is why I love Hong Kong. The same reason why people love their mother’s cooking even though others can cook the same dish. It’s got to do with the warm fuzzy feeling you get when you tuck in. And the flood of happy memories that come with it.
The Hubs patiently took a walk with me down memory lane. I showed him where I used to walk my grandad’s dog as a kid, where my cousin and I used to run off to play arcade games, the neighbourhood shop where I used to eat and we sat in the same living room that I used to spend days watching cartoons and playing with the dog.
I’m glad I made a trip down. As my granddad rightly pointed out, he’s already 89 years old. Last year when I visited, he could still make out the number of fingers I playfully waved in front of his face. This time, he’s almost blind and his short-term memory isn’t too good. As we squeezed each other’s hands while waiting for the lift, I remembered how we used to do the same thing when I was a kid. I remembered how I used to call him 爷爷 like twenty times in a day just for fun and he would always respond with a smile even when he was in a foul mood. I remember ….
I’m really glad I made the trip down.