My Grandma

She is my maternal grandma. 外婆, or ‘wapu’, as I called her in Qingtianese.
I have few memories of her. She lived in China. I lived in Spain.
She only spoke Qingtianese, I spoke little.
All her six children immigrated to Europe in their youth for a better future. Among them was the smallest one and only daughter—my mother.

That is my favorite picture with Grandma, taken in Qingtian in 2017.
Just like my uncles, my mother, and my cousins, I visited my grandparents sporadically for a short time.
I remember she liked me to bring her to the hypermarket. She would hold your hand.
She enjoyed strolling on the riverwalk, sitting in the park when tired, and looking at people passing by.
When we watched the TV, I noticed a steady gaze coming from her. Several times.
I wondered what she was thinking, what was in her head.
I would like to know even more now, but I never got to ask her.

Six months into my bicycle journey, she fell ill. Without thinking too much, I said to her I was going to China with the bicycle. She agreed to wait for me. And I realized I just included China in my route.
Ten months into the journey, something I had never thought could happen, happened.
In January 2023 she passed away, at the age of 92. I flew to China for two weeks and a half.

Then and there, I realized the journey would end in that place.
Where everything began.
What made the most sense to me, the most meaningful destination for me.

That’s how the destination came into being.
A parallel journey, a parallel story.

Spain to China on a bicycle. From Zaragoza to Qingtian, to my parents’ village (2022-2025).