| Term Paper Title | Personal Writing: An-Yang |
| # of Words | 623 |
| # of Pages (250 words per page double spaced) | 2.49 |
Personal Writing: An-Yang
"Shua-nging!" (Children!) The sound of her strident voice reverberates down
the narrow stairwell. I remember that musty, dark, winding stairwell that led
to her second floor apartment in Glendale as vividly as I did the day I
established a meaningful relationship with my grandmother. Through this
relationship, I have come to know her as a friend, a confidante, and lastly, a
woman I admire.
I was only seven at the time, and the only thing I cared about was the fact that
my grandmother spoke in a very loud and grating voice, and that she kept on
patting my hand (which annoyed me to no end). My grandparents are separated- my
grandfather lives with us, while she lives in a separate apartment by herself in
Glendale. My family and I used to eat lunch at her house every week. I
remember trudging up the dank, squeaky stairs with my siblings, yelling "An-
yang!!"(grandmother) all the way. She would yell in a similar fashion "Ah!
Shua- nging!" (ah, children!) Smells of old-fashioned Shanghainese cooking
would assail my senses, as my mouth watered in anticipation of the savories to
come.
One particular afternoon, after we had finished eating, we draped ourselves
around her living room. I was sitting on a dilapidated couch, whose colors were
made indiscernible by time, and was looking around her room. My gaze swept from
the thin, worn carpet, bare in some places, to the scarred wooden dresser, to a
dirty doll with an eye missing. (My grandmother could never bear to throw
anything away). She came and sat down next to me, taking my hand in hers. The
tight braid at the nape of her neck was coming undone. Wisps of thick black
hair framed her square face. I looked down at the contrast between our hands- my
hand was unblemished, pale and smooth, while her hand was mottled with ...Read entire document
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