One of my favourite things to do in Grandma's house is flip through the stacks and stacks of photographs she has in the cupboard behind the sofa. She has photos from the time where I still looked like a boy, with feathery, short hair that refused to grow past my eyes for the longest time, and instead stayed sticking up in odd places. She has photos from when my sister was the only child in our family, rosy cheeked, bright eyed, and with the tendency to smile with just her two front teeth showing. She has photos of my Mum's graduation, and my Aunt's travels in Australia, and my Dad and Mum in university, and their wedding day.
The photos of their wedding are so beautiful. Mum looks so radiant and gentle and beautiful, and Dad looks at her with such pride that my heart melts. I still find their love story such a miracle - a man from Singapore and a woman from England met at a Ceilidh University in Strathclyde...
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