Growing up, he was never present. Others nostalgically tell of how their grandparents spoiled them silly, cuddling and nuzzling as though they were little cubs. Not so with us ; we never received any gesture of affection or words of warmth. All we ever knew was his icy penetrating glare as he sat in disapproving silence.
(I am not saying this in a negative tone, or with any ill feelings nor resentment. I am merely and simply depicting it like it was.)
With his near impending departure, the rules and norms of society state that I should be deeply distressed. After all, Asian culture holds filial piety in the highest esteem. I should droop my shoulders, sorrowfully hang my head, go about moping sorry and downcast to reflect the weight of this situation. My eyes should be vacant and heavily brimmed with tears.
Not at all.
My head is defiantly held up high above my shoulders. My gaze remains strong and steady. I go about my days brightly and unperturbed. My careless laughter resounds, my conversation is carefree, my demeanor is happy and laissez faire. I toss my head, flash a sunshiny smile to the doorman, step with a gaily bounce.
I feel not the slightest tinge of sadness nor one tiny fragment of anguish. I am not remorseful for this. I do not think I am wrong not to be aggrieved.
I must say that I am rather amazed at my impertinence.
If it is of any consolation, I think it is sad that I am not sad.
But how do you grieve a stranger? Someone you never knew?