My grandmother's home
My grandmother's house has always felt like a vacation spot. While I never felt deeply connected to the place, each year that I didn’t visit, it felt as if I had left behind something important. Listening to my friends share stories of their close bonds with their grandmothers bedtime tales, long chats, and shared secrets I realized that my experience was different. Perhaps it was because I was never given the chance to stay with her for long. My visits were brief, only once a year. As I grew older, my feelings just like the house itself began to change. Nestled among trees on a hilltop, it wasn't just any house anymore; it was my grandmother’s home. The aroma of her cooking would reach us even before we stepped through the door. She always prepared a feast, filled with love. One of my favorite dishes was a cucumber curry she made, its taste still lingers on my tongue, although I haven’t had it in years. Somehow, nothing has ever matched that childhood flavor. Though I return t...
