It’s been almost three years since I’ve last posted here. Seeing how long I’ve abandoned my dear blog — my close confidante — brings many feelings of sadness, as if I’d let an inner part of me go. Much has happened over the years — many everythings and nothings at once, and with them much joy and much sorrow intertwine.

But here I am for another ‘hello’. So, hello, my dear blog and friends.

I’ve recently found profound happiness and calm just in visiting the Tulip Festival. The Canadian Tulip Festival, situated in Ottawa, is a yearly festival of tulips that honours the legacy of friendship between Canada and the Netherlands. As a token of appreciation, every year, the Netherlands sends Canada tulips to commemorate the crucial role that Canada had played in liberating the Netherlands and in keeping the Dutch royal family safe during WWII, which paved the road for the birth of Dutch Princess Margriet in Ottawa in 1943. The symbolism of friendship lives on today, through the spectacular showcase of tulips that never ceases to incite feelings of awe, warmth, and enchantment in visitors and tourists.

I was a lucky kid to have grown up next to the Tulip Festival. Every May in the 1990s, my parents and I would venture to see tulips just steps away from our home — my dad with his camera in hand, always capturing the spirit of the visit. (There’s still a 1997 photo of me at my parents’ house, where I’m sporting overalls and short hair and bangs, and looking quite miffed, in front of juxtaposing happy red tulips.) The vibe was very different back then. There were many visitors, but it was low-key. Decades later, with the onset of social media, the Tulip Festival has become a May icon in the capital, drawing crowds like never before. Much about the festival has changed over the years, but at the core of it all, it still feels like home to me. When I see thousands of blooming tulips at Dow’s Lake, I think of my childhood, and I remember Mom and Dad, and little me. Life back then was simple yet comforting.

Nostalgic yearning is almost visceral. It grips from within. I miss the innocence and simplicity of childhood, with hopes and dreams waving from the horizon, and the safe knowing that Mom and Dad are my protectors and home. I miss seeing my parents younger and healthier, and more mobile and energetic. I’m scared seeing them grow evermore old and vulnerable. As I grow older, I not only understand logically, but also deep in my bones, that health and time are the two most important pillars of life. This awareness motivates me to spend as much time as I can with my parents, and to take them on as many adventures as possible. After all, the only sane act vis-à-vis our human condition is to honour the present and make it what it is.

Today, my heart felt at peace. Mom and Dad were feeling healthy enough to attend the Tulip Festival with my husband and I and our kids. Mom even used her new walker for the first time — it had been sitting in her house for months on end — and seeing her walk somewhat normal again with her walker, made me feel so moved inside, that the urge to cry was ever so present. She had been experiencing such debilitating hip pain that she almost could no longer walk. But today, with her walker, she was speeding like she didn’t have an ounce of responsibility in the world (haha). The sight of her functional enough to participate in activities — that we functional and able-bodied folk sometimes fail to appreciate — brought both happiness and healing to me.

There’s something amazingly healing about seeing my parents spending time with their grandkids. Being the middle generation, having both my parents and my kids attend the Tulip Festival together, makes it feel as if life had come full circle. There was Mom, looking beautiful as always, with her piercing eyes and shining smile and adorning jewellery — her whitening hair and arching back a testament to resilience and stories kept secret. There was Dad with a complete coat of white hair and no teeth or dentures, and struggling to eat, yet still holding his camera and capturing videos and photos, just as he always had. There were my two kids, as energetic and vivacious as can be, with a zest for life. Then there was my husband and I, the glue to two generations — our eyes acting as camera shutters that sought to keep the memories alive forever. With the sun glistening and us walking together as a family amongst tulips, and eating ice cream and potato sticks, life felt beautiful. Grand, even.