Triston’s Story

Growing up, my grandma would always bring me back from preschool everyday. She would be there at 4:30pm without fail, helping me to carry my AppleTree bag, rushing me home knowing I would complain when I miss my daily episode of Hi-5 that aired at 5pm. (It was one of my childhood favorites) I remember me telling her one day while waiting for the lift on the way back home, “Po Po, the lift at 11th floor must wait long long to come down, we take the stairs okay” before dashing off on my glorious stair climbing journey. I guess the young me didn’t register the fact that I stayed on the 9th floor and that my grandma probably didn’t have the energy to scale that far up. But I guess she was worried that at some point, I would trip and fall. She forced herself to keep up with me, holding her hand out to catch me in case I fell while shouting desperately “triston lift here already, lift here already!” , but there was no stopping me. Thats how she ended up climbing all the way to the 9th floor with me.

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