I always took in more than I needed:
fried prawns with golden skin,
gu lou yok. Do not mention
the CNY goodies: Grandmother
with her ba gua container,
filled with pumpkin seeds, candied lychee.
Each year, we were reminded that
there was no secret but love.
My grandfather too, had his way:
I remember love, his hands
blistered warm from the wok.
We were never too big then, for
white rabbit, foil-wrapped
M&Ms. Now I bite down
and can't help counting the calories.
I make meals I wish to forget.
But in the morning in this
foreign kitchen, I sometimes catch
glimpses as I cook: my grandpa's hand
steadying the pan as grandma
pinches the spices. That is when
I remember the brew grandpa made
when I sat across him, xiangqi
pieces spread between us. It is
how I know I've grown up
with my grandparent's hands.

KENDRICK LOO is an English and Management student at University of St. Andrews. He has been published in SPWM '16, Myths of the Future, and The New Paper's GetLit! series. He has upcoming work from Sacrosanct Magazine, and enjoys writing more than he ought.