I love you, grandpa. None of us were ready for you to go.
It fills me with such happiness that you were able to come to my graduation last spring. Knowing how proud you were of me. That you'd fly across the country and put up with the lengthy, boring ceremony for the twenty seconds of me onstage. And now I think of what you told me when I saw you last summer in California. "Perhaps the next time I see you you'll be getting married." "Nahh, maybe before then I'll have gone back to school and I'll be graduating again." Perhaps that was a lie--I wasn't seriously considering grad school, at least not yet. But I said it because I wanted to make you proud of me again. That and I wasn't ready to envision myself as a grown woman, getting married. I was still a little girl being walked to Klockner Elementary School by her grandfather. Still her grandpa's "Sawsaw" (weird nickname in Tagalog that literally means "to dip (a food) in sauce"; all Filipinos have nicknames, some weirder than others).
No one called me Sawsaw but you, Lolo. But Sawsaw I will always be.
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