Sometimes the depths of affection I hold for my grandpa's house quite amazes me. The tenderness I feel when I think about the time I spent there as a child swinging between crying tantrums and the kind of unthinking happiness reserved for puppies and other creatures all intensely alive. 

I liked the way we stumbled out of the car and all the dogs would rush to the gate barking with excitement. I hated the way the little white poodle Wendy would run up to me and slobberingly lick my legs all the way up to my knees.

I liked going to through the garden to say Hi to the massive terrapin that lived in an old bathtub. It sunned itself on granite and ate a steady diet of kangkong and sotong. Attempts by my grandpa to clean the tub was always exciting because the terrapin could bite and there was always the possibility of blood.

The house itself was built some time in the late-1950s. Where the playground is now, was a cesspool because of the pig farm nearby, and the fields were covered in lalang. My grandpa would fetch my grandma on his motorbike and they would ride on down to watch the house being built.

Most of my memories are sunlit. Sleeping on the sofa, the smell of sundried laundry, the breeze blowing through the grills, the birds chirping and the hush-hush sounds of the trees. I think I have always been chasing that feeling. The drowsy assurance of the world spinning around me, and the ability to stay very still without being disturbed. Peace, this is what I think of when I think of peace.

I liked the garden a lot. I still mourn the loss of the custard apple tree. The excitement of eating fruit off the tree, waiting for it to blacken, hoping to get to it before the birds. The sugary, sweet taste of very ripe custard apples. It had to be cut down because of the ants, but to me it was a kind of magic.

I remember being sent to the garden to pick fresh chilli and limes for our char kway teow. The best from the coffee shop up the hill and past the HDB. The smoky char, the sweet lap cheong, crunchy tau gay, the silky noodles. We would squeeze the calamansi limes from the garden over it. The best on a bright hot day.

Watering the plants with water used to wash the rice, standing at the fridge scraping ice off the freezer because it was so hot. Feeling very calm. Reading in the rocking chair. I loved being at grandpa's place.

I think the new owners will tear it down. The plot of land is more important than the house, but a big part of me is not ready to let go. I understand nostalgia, the pain of leaving and the pain of going home. So much of my life has been steeped in that bitter brew of having to grow into myself, of never remaining a little girl. But I've always wanted, to stop a moment, and here I think I learned what heaven is - the absence of time. The remaining in a state of loveliness, of being loved, of loving. 

I am grateful, is what I'm thinking. Grateful for my childhood, grateful for my grandparents, grateful to have been able to have had these memories of love and peace and joy. There was joy. I'm grateful.