Am reading Jessica J Lee’s family memoir of sorts, Two Trees Make a Forest, and midway through I had a sudden stab of realisation: a big part of my relationship with my mum had been the shared love we had for my grandpa, her father. We each had a very different relationship with him, but each meant so much to us respectively, and our shared love for him held us closer together, or so it seems to me now.
There’s probably also the shared concern and worry for the rest of the family, but that love for my ah gong, that was probably one of the best parts of my relationship with my mother.
A pencil and a paper clip 
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