Leaves Return to their Roots

When my maternal grandpa passed away in 2018, following Taiwanese tradition, our family came together and spent a week at his countryside home to celebrate his life. Between the riturals of prayers, lighting incense, and burning joss paper; downtime was spent sharing stories, crying, singing, and laughing. I’ve shared a lot with family growing up, but such personal grief was new to me - something I didn’t know how to process. Being surrounded by family guided me, showing me that love and support takes many forms - sometimes spoken, sometimes through gestures, and sometimes simply in the quiet comfort of one’s presence.

My grandpa had retired from millwork in the late 90s, leaving Taipei to return to his hometown of Hsinchu, a small fishing town on the north-west coast of Taiwan. He spent these golden years tending to the chickens and sweet potato farm, rounding up his mates for card games, and distilling rice wine. Some of my fondest memories were sitting beside him by the distillery, helping feed the fire. We had a slight communication barrier, grandpa mostly spoke Taiwanese Hokkien, and myself Mandarin. Our conversations often turned into him asking me how to say simple words in English - I later discovered he’d kept a notebook with words and phrases spelt out phonetically in Mandarin. One year when I returned, he told me to wait, then came back, sat down beside me, and began sounding out “good mor-ning” and “ci-ga-rette”. It was such a tender and heartfelt moment - the kind that stays with you.

My favourite memory though, was when he’d take my brother and I out on his trusty Yamaha motorbike to cruise along the coast, it was such a treat, it was the thing Rob and I looked forward to most - we’d visit surrounding temples and he’d treat us to Ramune soda and grilled sausages. Whilst time spent with grandpa was few and far between, it was always quality.

That week with family in 2018 impacted me in ways I struggle to completely express, the simple act of existing and absorbing each others presence left me feeling whole. I learnt there wasn’t really anything else more important or necessary than these small in-between moments together. I decided to return the following year for Lunar New Year to capture moments of togetherness and all the quiet moments between tea, meals, mahjong, and conversations. Through these photos, I hope to honour my grandpa and the people who have come together to shape my understanding of family.