What Wabi-Sabi Taught Me About The Power of Grief

My grandpa was the coolest. When I was still young probably five or six, I used to picture him as a king of a dynasty. He walked slowly with dignity. He typed work documents with a fifty-kilogram typing machine. He used the calligraphy brush to write Chinese proverbs on a huge paper, then frame and hang them on the wall. He didn’t talk much to us, I hardly remember what we used to talk about. He used to come to our house just to bring some ice cream for the kids and fresh tofu or meatballs for my mom to cook. That was my memory for more than ten years. Life was stable, I…