A TIME FOR remembrance

There’s an alcove in the hall of my house, a 1950s brick number, where I suspect the landline phone used to sit when the place was built.

As it’s on the way to most rooms in the house, this alcove invariably collects keys, Nerf gun bullets, coins, apple cores, warranty receipts, and all manner of “important things” with apparently nowhere else to go.

If something is ever lost, it’s a trip back past the alcove to see if the missing thing was important enough to be chucked there.

For a while, this alcove was also the resting place for an old black-and-white photo of my partner’s great-grandfather, the mayor of a district not far from Hanoi, Vietnam.

In his traditional robes he looks regal, and a dad joke that the man in the photo was not only a relation, but the King of Vietnam, once made it all the way to a year four show-and-tell. His photo was eventually moved to a more respectful spot, high on a bookshelf, above other family photos, as befitting his status, according to Vietnamese custom.

In many Vietnamese homes, there is an altar for ancestors, adorned with offerings such as paper money, flowers and fruit, incense and photos and, this weekend, I made an altar – of sorts – for my great-grandfather-in-law,

On a shelf above the alcove is his photo, flowers in a small vase, and my great aunt’s sugar bowl, there for its heirloom qualities.

Like many with family overseas, because of Covid, my partner hasn’t been able to get home for nearly three years - a long time when your parents are ageing and navigating a pandemic.

Hopefully 2022 brings better news for those still waiting to go home for Christmas.