In an afternoon at the airport when I was four, my relatives told me my mother has gone to work and she would be back soon, in fact she has left for America to seek a better future for both of us. I don't remember crying much, because I seriously believed that my mother just went to work, and she will be back soon.
The rest of the years until I became 14, I grew up with my grandparents.
First, I would always write essays about my grandfather in elementary school, describing his character, how much books he collected, how well-respected he was, and how I admired him. Because most of the time, I argued with my grandmother. She was a quick-tempered grandma, but a worried grandma like everyone else who cared. I thought she was difficult and stubborn. But now, I only know that I was the same.
After I moved to America to reunite with my mother when I was 14, I didn't have the perspective to see what my future has in store for me. All I know is that, this is only the beginning of losing someone I love so dearly.
I would dream about combing my grandmother's thick, black, long hair. I would dream about lying beside her when she has trouble sleeping. I would miss her voice, her tiny figure, and wish that I am there to hold her hand when she's sick.
I often get depressed about the fact that I felt lonely as a child, that I am always on the edge, that I never felt the same as my peers. After hearing me sobbing on the end of the phone, my grandma cried, and she told me that she has felt the same as a child, that her mother died when she was young, and grew up in a household of a stepmother and the stepmother's children. But nonetheless, she had her grandmother, and her grandmother loved her dearly.