When I was young, I was one of those kids that was really anxious to start school. My junior kindergarten teacher was supposed to come and have a meet and greet with my dad (my mom was in the hospital at that time with my brother). Anyway, I stared out the window in the living room the whole day waiting for her to come. I didn't know how she looked and so I saw everybody who walked or drove past my house as my potential teacher. Eventually, she comes in, talks and leaves. I don't remember what she talked about, being that I was a child and didn't understand adult-speak at that point. Before she left though, she gave me a red apple. I thought she was the evil witch from Snow White. (The teacher was old and retired like two or three years after I went to her class.)

My first kiss happened in the back yard on our wooden swing. I remember thinking how nice the scene was. The trees were full with dark green leaves of summer, the street lamp bathed us in a nice warm glow. I was 14 or 15 and he had wild curly hair and an unexplainable attraction to me. It was quick and exciting. The sad thing is I can't even remember his name anymore...

On the street where I lived when I was very little we had a small house with hardwood floors. I remember watching the blue light from the TV bounce and shine off of that floor. I can remember sitting in my mom's bed when she was pregnant with my sister. There was a tree out back that had huge white flowers that looked like snowballs. The neighboor would occasionaly pick one for me. The house across the street would go all out for Halloween and I recall being quite scared to go over there. It was a good place at a good time before things would grow too big and fall apart.

On the street where I lived, or in the building where I lived, almost all the families were Jewish. We were the only Christian family, and definitely the only Chinese family. It was no fun because those Jewish kids were snobby and stuck-up. The only kids we ever played with were our neighbors, two little American boys.

They were such a nice family! Every holiday they would host parties and invite us to them even though were were much too old for these parties. We had Halloween parties, Easter parties, Valentine's day parties, St. Patrick's day parties, all types of parties!

Those were the good old days...

Back in grade 1 my mom would pick me up for lunch, but she would always be late. I would get embarassed waiting at the school drop off spot for such a long time, so I would slowly inch down the road to the end of the block. I had hoped if I was closer to the end of the block, my mom would find me faster and would not see anyone from the school staring at me. One time the postman caught me and brought me back to school so that I could be safe.

When my grandfather moved in to live with us, he stayed in his room a lot. Most of the time, I'd only see him at meals and it was rare that I conversed with him. I guess I just had nothing to say.

One time, he called me in to his room and took out this small rectangular object from his jacket pocket. It was a brass harmonica. He put it to his lips and began playing. Actually, he first took out his dentures and set them aside, and then he started playing. I thought it was the coolest thing, the harmonica playing, not the denture removal. He would then continue to hum out a tune I couldn't recognize, but one that sounded good nonetheless.

On the street where I lived I once saw this pregnant woman all dressed in white with curly brown hair walking slowly and watching everything with freaky attention, I was like 10 years old, I was totally convinced she was ghost.

My first kiss was outside my mother’s shop, it was the third attempt of this guy to kiss me.
On his first attempt, I don’t know how but somehow I moved my face seconds before he tried to kiss me, I didn’t plan these. On his second attempt, few minutes after the first one, we were just about to kiss when out of nowhere this dog came running and pass through us, he hated dogs, maybe I should have take this as a bizarre sign (not the fact that he hated dogs but this weird avoiding kiss situations) that he wasn’t good for me. Days or weeks later I can’t recall, we were sitting in my mom’s car outside mi mom’s shop and he lean to kiss me, this time nothing happened, hopping my mother won’t come out I kiss him back. Then he tried to french kiss me but I just kissed him back with mi lips closed. He didn’t try it again. Weeks later we argued basically because he was a junkie, goodbye, nice to meet you, take care.
My first first kiss, as in French kiss, was when I was 15 with my first boyfriend, nothing really special, we were in the cinema, I made a total fool of myself, we kiss, it was boring, really really boring, the best thing came afterwards I was almost in his sit because I was freezing he was hugging me and it was superb, one of the few moments I miss with him.

I never got to really know my grandparents until now because I lived a million miles away in another country. But what I did know was that they were kind and they would spoil me and my siblings every time we went to visit them. The time we spent together, though, was always so short that I only knew a few things about them.

Eight years ago my grandpa died of prostate cancer. It was shocking and very unexpected, yet I wasn't sure how to respond... at his funeral I realized that I would never see him again and I'd never have the chance to get to know him better. That was the saddest part about his death, my time with him was over.

Since his death I've tried to treasure every single moment with my other grandparents, but it wasn't until this past Christmas that it finally hit me how great grandparents really are. They are old and so wise, and I really don't have that much time with them... life is fragile and my precious moments with them could be over at any time.

My paternal grandfather was born in Canton, China in 1918. They didn't have formal birth certificates then and many men exaggerated their age to work, so it's the best guess at a birth year. He lived most of his 88 years of life in Hong Kong, spending several months here and there with my family in Canada and on one occasion Leeds, England.

Christmas Day 1941, World War 2: Japan had invaded Hong Kong and established rule of the (then) country. At the time my grandfather was still single in his 20's. Food was scarce during the war due to hyperinflation and food rationing on Hong Kong Island where the Japanese had stationed themselves.

One day, my grandfather took a hired boat with some others to the mainland with the goal of smuggling powdered milk back for his family. On his return return to HK Island, the Japanese caught him and threw him into a concentration camp.

He never spoke much about what happened in the camp. He has only told us that his family owned a business and was able to pay money for his general well being in the camp -- however, it was a concentration camp after all, so one can only imagine how marginally better he was treated. Maybe it's better to say, that he wasn't ill treated, as in tortured. Those that were not as lucky financially were often tortured, water-boarding being the main form, and beaten.

In total, he spent a few months during the war in confinement before he was released. The mental trauma and scars of his time there, however, lasted until his passing in 2006.