Love By Design

Chapter 43

Travelling to Switzerland was like being on auto-pilot mode. From packing my bags, getting a taxi to Heathrow and Gigi seeing me off at the airport to checking in, going through security then finally boarding.

Two hours on the plane felt like two days as I finally land in Geneva. The airport buzzed with activity, intensified by the Christmas holidays and navigating the rail network was even more hectic.

Sitting on the train by the window, I watch in real-time as the Swiss landscape, normally bright and vibrant in greenery, is covered in white as it begins to snow.

An untouched canvas, a clean slate.

The thought of seeing my grandparents in person for the first time in almost half a decade left a warm feeling in my chest despite the anxiety-inducing notion of spending the holidays in Switzerland.

A lot of time has passed but the memory of Christmas from four years ago continues to cast a shadow over my thoughts. Resting my head against the glass window, a heaviness settles in my ribcage and I find myself drifting off to sleep.

“She’s wasting her time.”

The exasperated voice from one of my uncles can be heard in the living room as I sit by the top of the stairs.

“It’s not too late,” Another voice replies, this time from one of aunts. “She can defer and then apply again next year.”

“We’re not asking for solutions on the matter.” It’s my grandma this time. “Lia is fine.”

There’s a quiet frustration in her voice as she speaks and I feel a tug on my heart at my grandma defending me.

“She is delusional.” The voice of my Uncle Jeremiah is the one I hear the most. “Always making things so difficult for herself and for everyone else around her.”

He’s speaking in Tagalog but I can loosely translate and comprehend what he’s saying, despite his attempt at lowering his voice.

“She won’t get anywhere with a degree in fashion,” He emphasises. “That boarding school should have disciplined her, not fed into her delusions. I can’t believe she had the audacity to go against our wishes and apply for that art school nonsense.”

“Fashion school,” My grandmother corrects him tiredly. “She applied and got accepted to one of the most prestigious institutions in London. A school she has consistently expressed interest in attending and has equally spent a lot of her time dedicating work to. Her decisions are not on a whim, Jeremiah. Give your niece a little more credit.”

“Why are you entertaining her mindless fantasies?”

“Jericho and Cassandra would have wanted their daughter to choose what she loves to do most.” My grandma states, an air of finality in her voice.

At the mention of my parents, the growing ache in my chest intensifies. I bite my tongue and blink back the tears blurring my vision.

“She is not your daughter, Remy.” It’s my grandpa this time. “Your expectations are not hers to uphold.”

“If she were my daughter, she wouldn’t be such a disappointment.”

I jolt awake as the memory slowly fades from my mind, a familiar knot forming in the recesses of my chest.

This time, four hours on the train felt like four minutes as I reach Interlaken station.

Heavy snowfall starts to form, my hands twitching involuntarily at how the cold has suddenly frozen them over. Driving through the snow-covered streets, I’m grateful that the taxis are still operating as I see the recognisable sights of the picturesque town I spent so much of my childhood come into view.

Festive decorations adorn the wooden chalets and the quaint, cobbled streets as twinkling lights and garlands hang on lampposts and storefronts. The usually crystal-clear waters of the lake have frozen over, the snow-capped mountains adding to the atmosphere of the holiday season.

Everything looks the same and, somehow, changed.

I finally arrive at the house belonging to my grandparents, a three-floor traditional Alpine-style structure with a sloping roof and overhanging eaves. Nestled on a hill and surrounded by towering pines, the chalet is located further out from the main commercial area of the town, my grandpa preferring the peace and quiet of nature rather than the hustle and bustle of the high street.

Though it towered over me, it felt a little smaller than what I was used to back then. The water fountain in the small courtyard at the front is surprisingly still functioning, even in the cold weather. The festive lights and bright display of ornaments that decorated the outside is typically Filipino and I couldn’t help but smile.

Every year, my grandparents always go above and beyond with the Christmas decorations and seeing it all in person again is making me a little emotional.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I wheel my suitcase towards the front door, the nervousness I feel growing with each step I take. Pausing by the porch steps, I stare at the ornament hanging on the door.

A star-shaped lantern made up of bamboo sticks and craft paper.

My heart warms at the display as my eyes begin to water.

It’s the parol I made when I couldn’t have been more than 10 years old.

Knocking on the door, I wait patiently as the noise of keys jangling can be heard on the other side of the wooden frame before it swings open.

A surge of emotions courses through me as my grandma comes into view.

“Hi, Mama.” I greet her, voice quivering. “Surprise?”

My grandma blinks at me, big brown eyes widening in realisation as she takes in my presence by the front door.

“Lia.”

My vision blurs as I move to hug her, an overwhelming feeling washing over me as she hugs me tightly.

The dam of emotions I’ve been barricading since landing in Switzerland bursts as the waterworks begin. I’ve always been an emotional person and I prepared myself for the tears but I didn’t realise it would be as soon as I step foot in front of the house, not even inside it.

“Who’s at the door?” The gruff voice belonging to my grandpa echoes from inside.

Peering over my grandma’s shoulder, I see my grandpa in the hallway, wearing a familiar-looking Christmas jumper with bobbles all over it. My grandma pats me on the back before releasing me and I scuttle over to my grandpa.

“Papa,” I give him a watery smile.

It takes him a moment to realise before he envelopes me in the warmest bear hug I haven’t felt in years. My grandma’s presence is instantly next to me as she hugs both of us and I bite my lip to prevent myself from ugly crying in front of them.

“Lili?” The nickname I haven’t heard in person for years tugs on my heart.

“Yes, po.” I respond with the Filipino honorific.

My grandpa chuckles affectionately. “Well, if it isn’t our little Christmas miracle.”

His words pull on my emotions and the next thing I know, I find myself bawling my eyes out like a baby as he envelops me in another bear hug.

“Are you well?” I ask him, my voice muffled.

“Why are you crying?” He pats my shoulder twice then scratches my head, something he used to always do when I was younger to stop me from crying and I weep even harder.

“I’ve missed you both so much.”

“Come inside, it’s so cold out!” My grandma exclaims, ushering me in and closing the door behind us.

My grandpa assesses me for a moment, “Have you eaten? You look so skinny.”

Next to him, my grandma lightly swats his arm and I let out a watery giggle.

“Don’t mind him, hija.” She shakes her head, turning to me. “What would you like to eat?”

“Anything, ma.”

“Your favourite?”

I nod. “Yes, please.”