An Ode To My Grandmother

My grandmother was one of my favorite people. When I was a child, she was always willing to sit down and listen to my rambling, seemingly never-ending stories about anything and everything. She never criticized or lectured, even when I deserved it, and always had a comforting hug and warm smile whenever I needed it.

She was a study of extremes, in the best way possible. She wasn’t loud and had never demanded to be heard in her life. All the same, people quieted when she spoke, and listened carefully to what she had to say. Never in her life had she ever tried to force someone into doing something, instead, she gently guided to the right path, without a word, never expecting anything in return. She was one of the kindest, and gentlest people I knew, and she cared about her family more than anything.

It was this love of family that shone throughout my upbringing. Especially by the stories that she told me every night: the stories of her childhood and the people she knew. The ones of her experiences, of her triumphs and her losses. She never sheltered me from the more difficult things in life and made sure that I always understood and appreciated all that I had.

She narrated the hardships that she and others around her had endured, and emphasized the importance of respecting everyone and everything. She told me that all things and all people had the potential to be more, to rise higher, and achieve greater objectives. That no matter what, we all needed to strive to be our best selves.

Among the stories that she told me every night, I had a favorite. One that I begged her to tell me time and time again. It was of her as a young girl, growing up on a farm, and being taught self-defense by her father. Over and over, she practiced, until she was better than most of the people in her village. Even though it was excruciatingly difficult, she never gave up. As a child, this story seemed to me to be the epitome of dedication and hard work: a memory that, even now, I still think back to if I’m ever in need of some motivation.

This story is just one of the many that represent my grandmother as she truly was: a resilient woman, who never backed down from something that was challenging. 

This was a woman who made sure that all four of her daughters were educated and could support themselves when she had never received formal education herself. She never complained or wondered if it was worthwhile, instead, she toiled every day with the intent of providing a better life for her children, and the generations to come.

Even to this day, if it hadn’t been for her sacrifices, I would be here writing about her, and being able to honor her memory. It was my grandmother who taught me that nothing should be taken for granted and that I should always be aware of all that I have. 

So, here I am, writing in memory of her, and all that she gave to me.

Written by Sreya Kalapala, Edited by Shreya Arukil