Journal about my homestay grandma
Today, as I went downstairs and got my bread for breakfast, I saw my homestay grandmother who was watching television again in the early morning. She always does that. And it seems that it is the only thing she can do in the house. Where she sits is a small but warm living room. Sometimes, a shaft of light will go through the floor-to-ceiling windows and let the wooden floor reflect the sunlight everywhere to make the whole room gleam. The Grandmother would sit in the yellow sunlight and enjoy her television peacefully. When I watch all of this from the side, I can always feel a harmony that emanates from the elderly. Their wrinkled skin, white hair and their completely serene look consist of a picture which illustrates the beautiful and solemn silence before the end of humans’ lives.
However, in the next moment, my original thoughts about her have altered.
The TV program was podcasting a song of a famous old chanteuse who had died at a young age. In my impression, she might be the most graceful female star I have ever seen. On the stage, she always holds the microphone gently, reaches out another arm towards her audience while singing those sweet and nostalgic songs. When lights are out and the spotlight highlights her, she is the muse! My parents used to listen to plenty of her songs. Vaguely, I could experience the old feeling of the 90s rooted in her songs. However, like the other young generation, I still hate her songs simply because they are old. On the other hand, my parents can enjoy the songs for the whole day, completely immersed in them and letting those old memories be brought up again with the melodies.
When I looked back for my bread, I suddenly heard the grandmother singing. Her voice was weak and shaking but, still, she allowed those words burst out from her throat. From that scene, I sensed the last little energy inside the feeble body. Those songs, carried with her memories, convinced her for seconds that she was young again!
