Recreating nani house in Paris

When my grand mom passed away, with her went the ancestral house, our old lands which we grew up around. The summer holidays, the smell of fresh milk, banana leaves, dessert melons, the wift of wood fire cooked simple meals, the wet air from a dessert cooler, the endless banter and fights with cousins, it all came to an end and relegated to a distant memory. Now those sweet memories have been replaced with phones, gadgets, Whatsapp groups, but nothing metaphysical. I found that sense of belonging, that endless banter again, in my house in Paris when the mother came visiting with the aunts. And now that they have gone, it's that emptiness of loss again. But now I know how generations get replaced, what my grand mom was to me, my mom and masis are now. That simple understanding took me 9 years to get to and it had to happen so far away from both my homes. It's memories not places that last forever. Another reason to love Paris, for bringing me to my knees and making me love small things about life again.