My little hand that my grandpa used to hold when I was young as he gently explained to me little fine lines on my palm.
My little hand that my grandma used to grip firmly when she took me out for window shopping and lunch at All Joy or Hong Kong Noodle House.
My little hand that my maternal grandma used to hold and hit gingerly if I was her mischievous little grandson.
My little hand that my dad used to hold firmly too when he allowed me to sit on his lap and drive his car illegally.
My little hand that my mum used to grip when we were outside the house.
My little hand changes so much ever since then as time elapsed.
The little hand gradually increases in size as each day passes by. The little hand grows to be stronger as life marches on. The little hand learns to do more thing and becomes skillful as life sails on. The little hand is magical now, it can do so many things which I cannot imagine myself doing when I was a little kid.
I miss having my little hand being hold by my loved ones. My little hand teaches me to touch and feel everything around me. I learn beyond touching a hot kettle and bawling loudly subsequently. My little hand teaches me to feel the love as my loved ones touch me. I wish both my grandmothers can still hold my little hand. I know no matter how much I have grown up, my hand is forever a little vulnerable one in theirs. And it feels so heart-warming.
I know someday it is time to extend this little hand to someone outside the family.
I will use this little hand to touch and feel your hand and love you. Life is about growing up.
I am in search for your little hand to hold and feel in the ocean of strangers, in the midst of labyrinth, in the middle of tropical forests, in the middle of nowhere. However, someday I will find it and I will extend my little hand and in return, I hope you will extend your little hand to me too.
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