My maternal grandfather was the only normal grandparent who was actually affectionate towards me. Maybe I reminded him of someone from his original family, like his sister or his first child. He had a wife and a baby before getting drafted to fight in the Korean war and subsequently fleeing down South, where he remained for the rest of his life without ever reuniting with his family in the North. I imagine that, for all his life, his heart must’ve pined for North Korea, where his beloved ones were and possibly still are. And this, I guess, means that he could’ve been emotionally absent, at least in part, from his second family here in South Korea. Imagine having an ornery, loveless mother and a father who’s half absent. In this regard, I really feel for my mum and her siblings. But to me, grandpa was wholehearted. He would say that I was special from the very moment I was born. And I was always his favourite. I was unaware until some years back, but my cousins, especially the female ones, used to feel jealous of me because of it. According to them, grandpa would display the Christmas cards I’d sent him on top of a drawer in his room, whilst the ones sent by the cousins were lying round the floor of the living room. I remember him drawing pretty pictures for me when I was little, encouraging me to draw things myself. I don’t believe any of my cousins share this precious memory of him with me either. They say that every parent with more than one child has a favourite, so you can’t really blame grandparents for having one, can you? Grandpa kept on drawing in his old age, and his sketchbooks full of drawings of people, animals and flowers are carefully tucked away somewhere in my apartment.
A weight presses down on my heart every time I think back to the day when I saw my grandpa for the very last time. My family visited the rural city he and granny were living in (where my family now lives) from the suburban one we were based in at the time. I was in the middle of preparing for interviews for American graduate school admission. It was after I realised that securing a Fulbright Scholarship wouldn’t be enough to cover all the expenses needed to study filmmaking in America. I was on edge and had no room in my mind for anything else than interview preparations and worries over finances. It probably also was one of those days when I felt extra irritable due to hormonal fluctuations. My family took grandpa to an Emart to buy him a pair of winter shoes. I was the one who pushed his wheelchair, and when mum told me to put her red scarf around his neck, I did so and then pushed his wheelchair in a manner that betrayed my irritation. Grandpa passed away not long after that day, and I’ll continue to rue for the rest of my life that my last demeanour towards him wasn’t one of kindness and love.
When I heard the news about his passing, I was not only beside myself but in denial. I even unconsciously missed the bus I was supposed to take to go to the funeral venue and therefore missed the funeral cortege. I felt nothing throughout the funeral process. Then towards the very end of it, I quietly left the mourning crowd and stepped outside. The sun was rising, casting its golden hues across the sky, and it was the most beautiful and magnificent sunrise I’d ever seen. In that moment, I was certain that the splendid sun was my grandpa saying goodbye to me, and finally, I burst into tears.
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