My grandmother died when I was 27 years old.

I think at 27, you feel everything with tremendous intensity.

Also at 43, but at 27, you’re still young and at the same time transforming into a thirty-something adult.
You feel everything with those two parts, the young side and the new adult side.

The other day, I remembered her while Julia was telling me about her grandmother, and I felt sad,

I remembered how my grandmother ate oranges.
I eat them just like her.

I don’t cut them into quarters, but I make a cut at the top, like taking off a hat, and then I squeeze them between my hands and drink only the juice.

Then, if I feel like it, I open them and eat the pulp.

When you cut them into quarters, you have to eat the pulp, but not this way.
I’ve never seen anyone else eat oranges like that, except me, like my grandmother.
I also played checkers with my grandmother.

I remember the first time I beat her, I felt like I had defeated a giant, but then I realized that maybe she was getting old.

I loved watching TV with her. I would lie at the foot of her bed crosswise, with my legs dangling from her, and I also remember her hands. My mother’s hands now look a bit like hers.
I also remember my grandmother picking me up from school when I was in primary school.
And I remember that in winter, when she put a sweater on me, she would say: hold the cuffs of your sweater so they don’t ride up and bother you.

My grandmother also said that when you choke, it’s good to raise your arms, and she would say “let me see” when she wanted to know more about something.
I could write so much about her.

I just wanted to say that the other day, I remembered my grandmother.