Part 1

The cricket sounds creep through the doorway and window cracks. I can't believe they still sing at autumn. Their noise echo through the room softly, along with the patterned croaks of the frogs and the drizzle beats from the soft rain on the roof. I turned on the light inside my bedroom, still having this great deal of mess and dust. Crouching down the bed, I grabbed this rusty tin box and clicked it's simple lock. The old case opened and revealed a folded paper torn from either sides.

Dearest Grandson,

I wish to leave the candy shop in your care. I, your grandfather, do not have much time. After much thought alone, I came to such conclusion that you are the only one whom I would wish to hand over the shop to. Know that for forty-seven straight wonderful years, this has been mine and your grandmother's home. Now I leave it to you, my boy, though it is only my wish. The decision will still be up to you, as I know you will have to leave the city life and your job to take this will of mine.

I hope to receive your answer the soonest.

Love, Your Grandfather

This letter was never sent on time. The moment I heard about my grand dad's passing, it was already about three days. The city mayor's secretary called me about what happened and I rushed to leave for the province. It took two days for me to arrive in this town as it is a hard location to travel on. Then I went straight to my grand dad's burial. There was no funeral, as he has no other relatives here except me.

Here lies Andrew Webber (1932 - 2021)

His gravestone is the only one with freshly dug soil in the entire cemetery. People rarely die here, I guess. Though it does reflect this place's lifestyle and food.

Before it got dark, I walked toward my grand dad's candy shop. It was already raining, and it was getting cold. My umbrella is not that strong with gusting winds, fortunately it was just plain rain. The street lights turned on with warm glows sparkling with the rain drops as the sun dipped itself down. I headed down the street seeing the sea by the horizon, the sun saying goodbye. Some of the town's roads are cemented, some are not, like this particular path I took. The houses here are limited to only one floor, and I see no garages around. It took me awhile to realize there were no cars around ever since I arrived, only bicycles. And by this time, not a soul is outside anymore. I looked at the signs as I crossed every block, one of which reads "BLOCK 5". As I remembered, we always spent our summers in grand dad's home here, but it stopped around when dad and mom separated. As a kid, I used to play with my friends here I met during summers. I wonder if they are still here.

BLOCK 8. I read the familiar sign partially stained by rust and damaged by time. I turned left and saw familiar houses by my side; on the right is the sea, its waves dancing with the usual evening tide before the sun completely vanishes. The shop lies right in front of the sea, a few meters away from the shore, with a road on its front. The road here is just rough sand, so winds carried by the sea usually enters the shop's floor. I stood outside, pausing for a moment, as my memories play through my mind of what once was. My grandfather smiling with my dad, watching me play and run around the shop and the beach with other kids. Those were the times.

The shop is rather a small one, about the size of a regular studio unit condo from the city, but attached behind it is a house twice it's size, the home of my grandparents. Most of it is wooden, all of it maybe, but it's strong enough to survive storms and wind gusts as tested by time with obvious results itself. The shop has a wooden door entrance, which makes it cold on winters but cool on summers. The front platform by the right of the doorway is for people to step up and see the candies displayed, the wooden board that covers half the entire front wall is lifted up when the store opens with two wooden rods supporting it from each sides. I remember seeing the most number of colors from the candies displayed every time grand dad opens his shop.

The rain was getting heavier. My umbrella struggles and is about to breath its last if I don't get in soon. I entered the store and closed the door. It was dark, so I pulled the light switch by the center of the shop. Above the light bulb is a ceiling fan, a two-in-one fancy machine grandmother likes. It's a bit shaky ever since I was little, and I always wondered when it will fall off from the ceiling, like a large beyblade or an accident waiting to happen. The shop was warm in the inside, with the smell of aromatic incense still lingering, also of grandmother's particular taste in air freshening. The walls have changed since last time, cobwebs hanging from the corners and a bunch of lizards running around the walls hoping to catch that moth that entered with me, obsessing the light. Inside was a wooden platform by the left side corner, one would have to step on top of it to enter the back door leading to the house. The platform had a red dusty cushion resting on top of it, the favorite spot of my grand dad. He would sit endless hours drinking his tea on this cushion, his bitter tea which he always pushed me to drink. Beside the platform was a counter table on the center extending to the right wall, and in front of the table by the wall is the shelf for the candies surrounding the whole store as it is. This was a kid's wonderland back then, where they would happily destroy their teeth and satisfy their cravings.

I entered the back door and saw the old sink where the tea cups and water heater always was. Some cups were left unwashed, and the heater still with water already cold. Grand dad may have been hospitalized immediately and have not returned home again. I turned the lights on inside their living room and saw everything as it was before. They never upgraded their TV and appliances, and they have this strict rule that unless something is completely destroyed, it is still usable. Your shoes open up like a mouth and your socks peek through? Grandmother sews it. Cracked cups? As long as it catches water, still usable. Plastic containers for food? Reuse it. Or as grandmother did, stack it as a two meter tower by the kitchen. As it is, the home smells of old furniture, but it's relaxing for me.

So here I am now, on my grandparent's bedroom, seeing my grand dad's letter, and calling it my bedroom now that my grand dad has passed it on to me. But I can't decide on it yet this time. I still have work in the city, and after I climbed my way up on that company for a good five years, I cannot just walk away and leave my position. I still have two and a half months left on my lease contract, and that's another problem.

After my parents separated, mom had another family after a few years, and dad died after choking on some squid balls he so partially bit and accidentally swallowed, laughing while having drinks with his colleagues. Although when people ask me how my dad died, I tell them that he drowned somewhere gasping for air, which is partially true, and mostly a lie. With that, I was the only family left for my grandparents. It would be a waste if I sell away this shop where my grandparents' memories are. I lied down on the floor tired from the walks I did today, then decided to spend the night here for now.

I woke up from the sound of a rooster by the bedroom's window. I didn't know a rooster was even there yesternight. It was worst than an alarm clock, as you could stop an alarm clock from sounding its siren, but you can't do the same to a rooster. I just can't go ahead and choke a neighbor's chicken early in the morning. You don't normally see someone choke a chicken in the morning, or even simply choke a chicken. Even when it's for dinner, chickens are not choked, but are sliced by the neck with quick mercy.

As time did not permit me to spend more days in that province, I had to catch up for work back in the city immediately. On one cold and rainy night, I stopped by a small diner for some warm refreshments and food: hot burritos and a choco drink. One of my best ways to return home and punish my stomach. As I was eating, I received a text from my boss.