Our old house, where I spent most of my summers growing up. Dad’s side of the family still lives here. Don’t be fooled by its ramshackle exterior. This is prime real estate next to the lake. For a decade now, there’s been talk of knocking down these 1950s apartments to build modern high-rises instead, so I snapped some pictures just in case, but I hope they never.
Still haven’t figured out what the mystery fruit hanging from this tree outside our balcony is. I don’t think anyone in my family has ever tried to eat it.
Our new house on the other side of town. My grandma reading the newspaper. She was illiterate for most of her life, but taught herself how to read after my mom and I left China so she could read Buddhist scriptures. Though she might just be looking at pictures here… I spy a panda on the back.
My grandpa glued to the TV. He really likes watching battle shows and infomercials.
He also reads the daily paper religiously.
But pretty cute nonetheless 😀
Not tomatoes. Ripe, slurpy persimmons you can eat just by sticking a straw in. The little red fruit is hawthorn, the most face-puckering sourpatch ever. I like hawthorn fruit roll-ups, which are loaded with sugar, but I don’t remember ever eating it fresh. I tried one and almost fell over.
More next time! I’m still here for three more days of watching TV shows about Chinese bandits fighting off Japanese invaders during WWII, cooking and cleaning for my grandparents, and eating all the things from my childhood.