No one was as proud of her grandchildren as she was.
We were allowed to do everything: staying up until we turned pale with exhaustion.
And watching Western movies, even though they were far too late and far too violent.
None of us were skinny, but whenever we walked in, she would always ask the same question: “Have you eaten yet?”
Grandma (over)fed us wadjik ketan and roti kukus because she came from the
Dutch East Indies, and we were never to forget that.
She slipped a few guilders into our hands for ice cream or chips.
She would open her purse whenever we came by with our school reports, or she would go upstairs, where it smelled of Maya soap and Nina Ricci, to fetch a little golden ring. “For you.”
Because she always gave so much away, I thought as a child that Grandma must have been very rich.
And to be honest, I still believe that.
