My grandfather's spirit was crippled by the dreadful
disease of cancer. He died on my Nana's lap. Since then, Nana Mama signed in a volunteer program for social work. Often, she would be assigned to different places and we would only receive a post card.
Whenever she'd be home, we'd all come to visit her in a rare moment she could spend time with us. Like my Nana Mama, her house was simply clean, bright, and organized. She's one talented old lady. She paints on canvass and most of her masterpieces were hanging on walls. Her humble abode's simply beautiful with fresh flowers, old photos, and her collection of antiques.
She has a refined taste that's why I noticed a quirk in her dining den. Hanging on the walls were different
colored plates in weird designs arranged in an eight-cornered shape. "Is it a new trend in Thailand?", I asked Nana. "No, I figured those plates are too special to be locked up in a drawer!", Nana explained. I felt my eyebrows knit into a frown. "How come those are special? When you use your expensive China everyday?" For a minute I was confused with the fancy of this old lady. Then she said, "These plates represent a memento of different countries I've gone to serve. It reminds me of how I fed them with spirit and strength." We were speechless for a while. "The Chinas? I don't care if they're expensive, my priceless possessions feed on it." And we were drawn to tears.
I figured that if we could buy eclectic pieces of house wares that don't mean much but the price, why can't we display memoirs that will bear a great deal to our lives. It was good to see those plates hanging on those walls. They filled up the empty space and made the dining den seep with warm invitation and cunning details of appreciation.
