Whenever I eat chestnuts, I remember my late-grandmother.

She was my maternal grandmother. We lived together for about 11 years since I was a baby. Besides my mom, my grandma was the person who took a great care of me when I was little.

She was a fun person. She would laugh a lot. She would smoke and play Mah-jong all night long with her friends. She would like to read gossip magazines. She had a lot of beautiful jewelries and liked to wear them when she goes out. She had bangs dyed in purple which looked really cool to the eyes of her grandchild.

When I come home from school, I always found her at Kotatsu table in the living room, watching TV drama.

Those little things are not so special. But every little piece of memory gave me nostalgia.

A stain of soy sauce. A sound of a baseball game from TV. Little ornaments and tinsels on Christmas tree.

Every autumn, she would buy chestnuts. She always cracked the chestnut shell for me.

I don’t know if she ever liked chestnut, or she bought it for me just because I liked it.

And she was the one who supported me to get involved in theatre. She was proud that she once has been a member of a choir group led by a notable conductor.

“You really like doing theatre stuff don’t you?”

I was in my early 20s. I was preparing for an upcoming show, but I was also thinking if I should make it my last show.

“Yes”, I said.

“I know that feeling. It’s special. It’s a lot of fun to perform on stage with your gangs.” She smiled.

At that time, I was wondering I should stop involving in theatre because I already realized that I’m not good talented enough to be an actor, not talented

I came to know how hard to crack a chestnut.