According to my mother, my Filipino grandmother – my lola – went back to the Philippines about 4 or 5 years ago and told my family about me.
And you know what she told them?
Not that I was smart or a good student.
Not that I was responsible and mature.
Not that I cooked her food EVERY SINGLE NIGHT SHE WAS HERE.
Oh, no. That would be too simple. She told them about how I ate pears. And how strange it was.
I feel depressed.
