I’d always believed I was Grandma’s favorite; my bold assumption stemming from consistent observations, instinctual bias, and childish desire.
For instance, Grandma’s habit of cooking my favorite dish almost every week.
And there was her bringing me home snacks every time she went out to the market.
Between my sister and me, I was the one scolded less.
And there were a couple of times when she kept telling me she'd pass on her cooking equipment to me in the future. I appreciate the offer, but as a child who just learned how to cook rice then, I couldn’t bring myself to get excited over some stained wok and humongous pots and pans that were probably heavier than my head.
There were moments whenever I hung out with her in the kitchen that she suddenly would say, “Your dad takes a lot after your grandpa. They’re both spare with their words.”
