Summer

"Why aren't you going back for summer?" says everyone who's going back and can't fathom why I'd choose to spend 3 months of my life in my second home instead of my first.

Is it so unfathomable that I'd prefer to stay in my second home during the summer, my first summer in this place ever? Is it so unthinkable that I'd like to experience a summer Christmas? Because the alternative (returning to my first home) is such an amazing alternative, hey?

There's absolutely nothing I'd like to do more than to walk along the corridor towards my flat. As I take each step towards the front door, and in my left peripheral view, I'll see the plants my Ah ma used to nurture each and every day when she could still manage to step out of the house. Or maybe instead, I'll see the space where my Ah ma used to keep her plants, the plants all withered, dead and discarded when she passed. Then I'll get closer to the door, and even before I pull out my keys, I will see the door to her room. When I enter the house and walk towards my bedroom, I will pass the room she and my ah gong used to live it. Each time I walk past that room, I will be slapped with a reminder of its emptiness, devoid of any life. Each time I leave or enter the house I spent the first 20 years of my life in, I will see that room. I will be confronted with the cold, hard truth of how both my grandparents took their last breaths in that room, 6 years apart from each other and how I was absent when it happened.
I'll sit on the couch and listen to the sounds in this house. My ears will quickly pick up that the only language spoken in this house is now English, in contrast to the smattering of English, Hokkien, Mandarin and occasional Malay they used to be bombarded with each day. They will pick up that the mean sound pressure level isn't as high as it used to be.
My nose will pick up the absence of medical balms and oils in the house. The smell of hong you no longer pervades my nostrils like it used to.
At dinner, there will rarely be porridge present on the table. The amount of food served on the table has decreased. The amount of rice in the rice cooker will also have decreased.
When I leave the house, I will no longer be nagged at to remember my phone, wallet, jumper and ezlink card. Sometimes, I will run down half a storey of stairs, only to have to run back up because I left something in the house. I will knock on the door and it'll take twice as long as it used to get the door open because I have to wait for my sister to come out from our bedroom, which is further away from the front door than Ah ma's room.

It sounds like a terrific way to spend 3 months, doesn't it? That's probably why you can't fathom why I'd choose to pass it up.