Ivy and ferns grow through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which lead directly to the vast residence straight ahead. Behind the white picket fence, the red-brown bricked home stands brightly under the sun, flanked by neatly trimmed shrubs and potted plants. The house has two stories and a one story extension at the rear for the kitchen. A small flower garden is planted in the front. Though most of the time it is carefully planned and loved, now it is riddled with weeds.
This is the house I grew up in, and I always feel a sense of genuine happiness whenever I walk towards the blue front door.
I turn the golden knob and walk in to the smell of noodles being pan-fried. My mom, Elaine, is the cook in the family, and she is definitely making lunch. I walk into the open kitchen, c
