Bags, Wine, and Memories

She's a hoarder. Nope, she's a girl full of sentiment.

She stores everything physical to mental, all put away preciously but never to look back on until necessary. 

The thing about putting things away is that when you least expect them, they come across your path to remind you of something or someone.

I've come across keepsakes from exes, letters I've burned out of spite.

Other times, I've stood still in surprise that I kept a letter from my eighth birthday party where we all danced to choreographed dances from High School Musical. 

It's so weird to keep things from such a long time ago. The only time you'd really go through them is during spring cleaning or before moving into a new place. 

I moved to Japan at the age of fifteen. I would visit often as my relatives live in Japan. 

This led to me visiting my grandparents more but never enough. 

One of the closest people in my life who understands me is my grandmother. I call her Baba. 

She's the coolest person I've met. Who cooks the best meals, tells me how much I've grown, and throughout the years of visiting her became my best friend. 

One day, I went shopping with my grandmother. 

I remember heading into Daiso and looking for a wine bag for my mother as she was asking for one. 

My grandma and I spent over five minutes discussing which wine bag out of the limited selection would be adequate for my mother. 

We finally chose two. 

Recently my mother told me she found the bags my Baba and I had chosen for each other. 

Since then, wine bags signify the final moments of my Baba before the big change. 

A few years ago, Baba had a stroke. It changed my life forever. 

After she came out of surgery, I would video call and hear her voice, it's still the same, but she's different.

She is still Baba but the Baba who chose wine bags with me was no longer there. I would never go shopping with her like that again. 

I would cry out of guilt because I was grieving the best friend. She would rely on me, and ask me about what she should do in her complicated friend group. She would tell me her secrets and tell me what I should do in case she passes. As a granddaughter who could only be there for her that way, I was so happy to be her safe space. 

Now she's still the same Baba and I am happy that she's still with us. However, I can't see her the same amount as I used to. I can't let her rely on me like she's used to. But I guess, she's more accepting of her situation and I'm the one that isn't used to what has happened now. 

Missing someone the way I miss Baba will be something I don't think I could ever get used to. 

Bags, wine, and memories. They will always bring a bittersweet taste to my eyes.