In Buddhism, on the forty-ninth day after death, a person’s soul begins the cycle of reincarnation, and on the 100th, it is reborn into the world. As such, on my grandmother’s 100th day, the whole family gathers to perform the traditional rites.

We bring offerings of food and drink to the grave, light incense, say prayers, and burn paper money and ingots so that the deceased may have more wealth in their next life.

Me: “Why is there toothpaste and a toothbrush on the grave?”

Aunt: “Oh, it’s because last night, I had a dream about Grandma. She told me not to forget the toothpaste.”

Me: “…”

Aunt: “…”

Me: “Yeah, I can totally see her doing that.”

Aunt: “I know, right? She was even wagging her finger like she always does!”

I guess Grandma really didn’t want to have dentures again in her next life.

My mother told me this story. When I was about two years old, I was appearing to be mute, as I only talked when I deemed it necessary which was, apparently, quite rare.

One day, when we were visiting my great-grandparents, my great-grandfather declared:

Great-Grandfather: “I will teach this girl how to talk.”

He walked over to where I was drawing, grabbed an item in each hand, and started “teaching” me.

Great-Grandfather: “This is a pen. Say after me, my girl: pen. A p-e-n.”

After a while, I had enough, shook my head, and said:

Me: “No pen. Pens. Two.”

Then, I went back to drawing like nothing had happened, while my parents nearly died laughing.

I’m writing this for my grandmother, who doesn’t speak a single word of English.

Grandma has lived her whole life in rural China, in one of those really backwater villages that basically remained unchanged by time, even now. The only major highlight of the village is that it runs an orphanage for the surrounding region. It came into existence to take care of unwanted and abandoned girls due to China’s One Child Policy, and it was rather communal.

Nearly every housewife in the village chipped in to help take care of the children, and Grandma in particular was essentially the manager of the place. She basically ran the orphanage for decades, refusing to retire or close shop no matter what.

Things back then weren’t so good. Girls were rarely ever adopted, and most wound up being shipped off to the cities as trophy wives. It got better over time — fewer abandoned girls, better funding and organisation, and these days, those who aren’t adopted are sent to an actual school in the cities — but back then, it was quite horrible.

One day, I found my grandmother sobbing in a corner. At first, I was worried, but she reassured me they were happy tears.

Apparently, one of the old orphans from the “Bad Old Days” had come by. She was of the few who had been adopted, so Grandma could remember who she was. 

This particular orphan was now a Canadian citizen and had a career, and after marriage, she decided to adopt a pair of girls as her way of giving back to the community.

Imagine that. She was apparently fine with adopting from any old orphanage, but her husband had painstakingly tracked down the very same orphanage she had come from, all in order to allow his wife to come full circle. This was no small feat considering she’d been adopted a quarter of a century ago, way before anything was digital.

Grandma says that running an orphanage is a thankless job, but it’s moments like these that keep her going.

This story is part of our end-of-year Feel Good roundup for 2022!

Read the next Feel Good 2022 story!

Read the Feel Good 2022 roundup!

My great-grandma, while miraculously still alive, is senile and half-deaf, so we are never sure if she understands what’s going on around her at any given time. Nonetheless, we try to include her during mealtimes and such.

One day, the whole family is having breakfast together and chatting.

Brother: “[Friend] got in some kind of trouble with the cops. I’m not sure what for, but I think it was soliciting…”

Mom: “Shut it! Saying such things in front of your Nana, honestly!”

Brother: “What? She’s not even listening!”

Nana: *Suddenly yelling* “FLAT A*** AIN’T WORTH THE MONEY, HON!”

She was, in fact, listening.

I was working at a theatre when “Meet The Fockers” came out.

Customer: “I have a complaint! This PG rating is misleading. How can the movie be a PG with this many eff-bombs?!”

Me: “Sir, the title is a play on a curse word.”

Customer: “This movie is totally inappropriate for my grandson! He’s only five!”

Next Customer In Line: “If you can’t figure that it’s inappropriate for your five-year-old grandson… that’s not their problem! Learn to read and get out of the way!”