The winds howl, blowing and swirling with enough force to shatter a window. The rain knocks on the roof, not letting up until it is allowed in. My grandmother and I have just finished nailing down boards onto the windows. We now stare at the phone, praying for the electricity to come back on so that we can reach my grandpa, who has gone missing.

My family is from Taiwan, a small island located off the coast of China. Taiwan is a diverse country. Its terrain ranges from beautiful country sides to busy cities. Since I was 3, we have gone to visit relatives there every single summer. I remember playing with my cousins, touring the night markets, and eating numerous delicious foods. Much of my childhood memories take place in Taiwan. However, there was one year in particular that stuck with me the rest of my life.

It was my first night in Taiwan. My sister and I have just put our luggage down and claimed our beds. The long flight has not been easy on us. Our breath smells foul, our clothes are wrinkled, and our eyes are heavy from the lack of sleep. However, we do not lay down yet because we know, from the smells wafting from the kitchen and our past years in Taiwan, that our grandma is preparing a feast for my family to welcome us back.

My family and and a few close relatives sit around the old oak table, digging into the mouth-watering foods. I grin, tasting the delectable food of my native country. My grandpa, or as I call him in traditional Taiwanese greeting, A-Gong, smiles as he recognizes the happiness in my eyes.

“The soy sauce there is your favorite kind, A-Gong bought it the other day just for you,”. A-Ma tells me.
“I wish I could take some home. Why doesn’t America have this kind of sauce?” I reply wistfully. Without me knowing, A-Gong makes a mental note of my words.

Days later, a typhoon hits. It comes in large bursts of rain, non-stop wind. One of the glass window shatters, hit by an object picked up and thrown around by the wind. Water floods in as my grandmother and I scramble to repair the gaping hole. But this is not what is worrying us.

A-Gong left the house that morning, claiming he was going on his daily morning stroll. Three hours later, with the power out, he still has not returned. A-Ma and I nervously wait, silently pacing the perimeter of the living room. The tension around us could be cut with a knife. The TV sits in the center of the room, the screen dark and gloomy, like a bad omen. I walk to the balcony window and look out.

Water rushes, crashing down onto the roads, making them slick, shiny, and dangerous. Rain comes down with satisfying ker-plunks, like tennis balls hitting the court. Dirt, rocks, and sediment crumble off the sides of the pavement, turning the water a murky brown, like the bottom of a swamp. Beneath me, people run frantically, yelling and screaming, trying to dodge the incoming rain unsuccessfully. Inverted umbrellas travel through the gusting winds. Tree branches snap off, drifting in the crazed waters like lost children. Out of nowhere, a monstrous wave comes down, cutting off a car’s mad rush to shelter. Though I am standing in the living room, safe from the wrath of Mother Nature, I can almost feel the icy breeze sliding across my shoulder, making me shiver slightly. I can’t imagine how my grandfather must feel out there.
Finally, I snap, taking out my anger and nervousness at the dead phone.

“You stupid phone! Of course you black out when we need you the most!” I yell at the lifeless phone.
“Good things come to those who wait.” A-Ma tries to soothe me, but the quiver in her voice tells me that she isn’t so sure of herself.   

After what seemed like hours of pacing, I go to my room, prepared for the worst. Tears stream down my face as I recall the memories I had with my grandfather. But one part of my brain was still telling me to hold on to hope. I wipe my tears and join my grandmother. I knew that I had to be strong for her.

Just as my grandmother was ready to walk out the door to look for my grandfather herself, he walked in. My grandfather’s white hair is plastered to his head, and his clothes stick to his tall frame. He sneezes, and gives us a rueful smile. I was sure that he could tell we were about to snap from panic. In one hand, he holds a bent umbrella. In the other, he tightly grasps a large plastic bag. A-Ma looks like a thousand years has just been taken off her face. Without a moment’s hesitation, I run to my grandpa, his tall frame towering over me, and hug him tightly. My eyes start to water, tears threatening to flow down my face. At the time, I barely reached his waist.

“We might need a new one of these,” A-Gong holds up the broken umbrella and grins apologetically at us.
“Really?! You were gone for hours and you think we are mad at you for breaking an umbrella! Where did you go? We were so worried! There’s a typhoon happening out there!” A-Ma scolds.

After calming my grandmother down, my grandfather turns to me.

“Open the bag,” A-Gong handed me the plastic bag.

I lift two heavy, newspaper covered, items out of the striped bag that was already straining under the weight. As I lift the objects out of the paper, I recognize the glass bottles. My smile broadens. A-Gong had bought me two bottles of the special soy sauce.

“For you, to take back to America,” A-Gong grins down at me.

“You remembered,” I look up at my grandpa in amazement and admiration.

“I remembered.”