Somewhere deep down, I still love my grandfather.

Imagine the Devil. Now imagine the devil is tasked with raising a kid. Only, this devil, is a man of principles. Number one being honesty. Followed by respect and “kindness”. You know the kind of guy who pledges his life for the betterment of mankind but shows zero affection to his own family? That was my grandad. His own family feared him. He did not raise me, but he stepped in to help out the family after my dad passed. I don’t know his exact age, but he’s crossed 90 for sure. Few days ago, mom told me he’s fallen ill. Like literally, he’s ill, and he fell on the floor in the living room. I pictured the worst case scenario. What if he dies? And I waited. I waited for any kind of emotion to kick in. Nothing. I didn’t feel anything. Then I imagined myself, wearing boxing gloves, punching myself in the face, multiple times. Remember Mortal Kombat? Remember Liu Kang’s speed punches? That’s what I am talking about.

I think the speed punches mean I still like him.

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