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My grandmother is as tough as nails, as the saying goes. It feels like no force on earth will stop her indomitable spirit. I wish I had that in me. The kind of fighting spirit that takes a beating before it quits. If she ever quits. The kind that defies the limits that nature imposes upon her. Her joints are as stiff as winter-touched poles. Her bones creak and crack like glass. Yet she insists on continuing her daily battles; the weeds must be pulled, and her gardens must thrive. Her hands—joints bulging, fingers coarse—pick stones, unclog canals, and cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My grandmother is ancient but insists on carrying on even with diabetes and arthritis. She will defy the odds age has given her; her tiny, crooked, bent self waddling along her property. She does this, I know, to feel useful; for her family to see that she is all right and still functioning, even as we all can plainly see that her strength is failing. We applaud her, but we are not fooled. She does this because to be a burden for her children would be unthinkable. We don’t want to treat her as an invalid, but we also do not want her to hurt herself. Even as the cruel fog descends to distort her memories, even as it obscures her judgment and rationale most days, the love for her family urges her to always move. Like a shark refusing to stop, because to stop would be the end of her, she fears. I want to be like her. Even as every step feels like climbing a mountain, I want to always find the resolve to move and act. I want to be the kind of person who forces themselves to walk and care for their garden, and cook chicken and fish for their grandchildren—this timeless recipe that flings me back to a time when I was smaller and bonier than I am now, with scruffy knees and dirt-encrusted fingernails. I want to believe that I still could do things. I want to shut the toxic voice in my head and ignore the limitations my body is warning me about and charge through. Because it isn’t about me anymore: it’s about what good I can do for the people I love. I wish the skies would smile on me like they do for her. I want them to bless me too. I would love to be unflinching in the throes of pain, to carry on like a soldier, to keep giving, and to keep sacrificing for my family. Let me be strong like Lolo was and how tough my Lola is. Let me honor them through that.

Words: Ejay Diwas