The Ties That Bind

Since my parents passed away, I have never experienced anyone who would be most willing to know how I was or even ask about my whereabouts. There was once an instance when I cried and hugged my mum one late night when I saw her waiting for me by the staircase. I asked her why she was still up, and she told me she was waiting for me to get home. We hugged and cried, not knowing that those few meaningful waits and talks would be the last.

During long holidays such as Spring breaks, summers, or even the winter season, I have the opportunity to visit a family that I now call my own. On one of my visits, it so happened that I felt differently and strange in a good way. 

As I readied to leave, I visited three houses to say farewell.  The elders received me warmly in all three houses and equally blessed me through a tradition embraced for many centuries. The strings rubbed on my arms were blessings of gratitude, hope, faith, safety, and love.  I came back home knowing I had a family again waiting for me.  The ties that bind us are not of gold but of the most sincere words only a family can share and behold.