A Dreamy Dance with Youth and Aging

My Teenage Grandma Taught Me to Embrace Growing Older

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I opened my eyes to a room that wasn’t mine. No phone buzzing, no coffee maker humming just the smell of spices and a faint song from an old radio. The bed creaked, the walls were covered in faded floral paper, and a clunky fan spun lazily overhead.

A calendar on the wall read 1955. I sat up, confused, thinking I must’ve crashed at a weird Airbnb. But then I saw her - my grandma, except she wasn’t the sweet, wrinkled lady I knew.

She was a 16-year-old girl, all giggles and energy, braiding her hair in a sunny corner of the room. This was her world, a small South Asian town familiar with lively markets and chatty neighbors.

The hair-braiding disaster

First up, I had to deal with the basics of 1950s life. I’m used to my quick morning routine: brush teeth, check my phone, maybe slap on some sunscreen.

But here, my grandma, let’s call her Lila, handed me a comb and told me to braid my hair.

“It’s easy,” she said, her fingers twisting her own hair into a perfect rope.

Easy? I can barely manage a messy bun.