Shengliver’s Note: The teen writer is cared for in many ways by the grandparents. When I was perusing the entry, a lot of questions crowded into my head. Where are her mum and dad? What adolescent problems is she entangled in?

December 14, 2019 was a day that has left an indelible mark on my memory.

It was a Saturday. Exhausted from a week’s slog at school, I was lying sprawled on the sofa for a rest. The doorbell rang. I wondered who on earth was coming and visiting at such a late hour.

Opening the front door, I was greeted by my grandparents on the doorstep. I could not believe that they would come over in such hellish weather. It was freezing and blustery. What was worse, Gran has a waist injury.

In Grandad’s hand was a bag of baozi. A familiar aroma permeated the living room the moment I tore open the bag. I could not help sniffing it. Gran was looking affectionally at me.

Munching my favourite delicacy, I could not but appreciate the trouble my grandparents had taken to prepare the meal. Making baozi is an elaborate process, involving leavening the dough, preparing the stuffing, wrapping and steaming. After it was cooked, they had hobbled all the way to our house through the biting wind in the dark, just to have a look at their granddaughter.

Grandparents’ baozi is not only a taste of home but one of family as well. When my grandparents were ready to go back to their home, I gave each of them a hug. A little flashlight lighted their way back.

Upon reflection, I have realised that it is my grandparents’ love, apart from my own dream, that buoys me up as I am struggling desperately in a turbulent sea of my adolescent problems. Without their unwavering care and support, I would not be where I am today.

Already in their 70s, Gran and Grandad will not be there forever. No matter what, my love towards them will be permanent.