The Vine & Branches

Neha Jelemu

Contributing Writer

We grow, mature and leave a legacy, just like the vine and its branches do. And there is unparalleled beauty in it.

Peering through my window on an early Sunday morning, I catch sight of a tree with vines standing resolute, its branches reaching out like the arms of time itself. It has remained for as long as I can remember, its branches spreading out and remaining unwavering across time. It perseveres season after season—through the searing heat of summer, the ferocious winds of autumn and the torrential rains that try to bless it. Yet it stands firm, deeply entrenched and unshaken by time.

Like my grandma, who at 85 remains a gentle force of wisdom and elegance. As the sunlight shines through her aged bark, I see her—resilient, resolute and lovely in the manner that only a well-lived life can be.

In a culture where youth is idealized and aging is viewed as a gradual decline, I find it fascinating that beauty transforms rather than disappears. My grandmother's wrinkled hands, trembling gait and the fading brightness in her eyes all tell a narrative. Her journey is woven into every step she takes, much like the vine's eternal branches that have stood tall in the face of many storms.

My grandmother, a woman of unwavering strength and discipline, has been the guiding force in my life. A guardian of traditions and morals, she has always stood firm in her beliefs, never swayed by time or change. Since my childhood, she made it a habit to have dinner at exactly 6 pm, a ritual I still follow—a quiet homage to her steadfast ways.

During our tea times, she fondly recalls the little treats I once gave her, subtly ensuring she receives them again, and only then do I realize her gentle way of asking. She has never been drawn to fashion, always distant from her charms, yet she delights in the small joy of having her nails painted—only by me. In that small gesture, I recognize the differences between us, yet it also reflects the quiet, enduring love that connects us beyond words.

She has never been to a beach. The grandeur of the ocean, the limitless horizon, the calm crash of waves against the shore—these are all unfamiliar to her. Yet, she has endured life's ever-changing tides in a way that few can truly understand. Despite losing her spouse before I was born, she persevered with unwavering determination, raising generations beneath her protective canopy.

Looking at her old images, I'm struck by how time transforms us. Her once-youthful face, full of vibrancy and enthusiasm, has softened, exhibiting the signs of a life well lived. As humans, we fear this metamorphosis, lamenting the loss of our youthful attractiveness, but aging is a collection of memories, lessons and love.

We all evolve, much like a vine tree that grows and sprouts new branches like the old ones wither. Some branches produce fruit effortlessly, while others struggle. However, every branch contributes to the tree's story, just as each stage of our lives adds to our particular narrative.

Many homes cut down trees as they mature, deeming them no longer useful. But my parents elected to let the vine tree alone, allowing it to exist with dignity—just as they treasured my grandma despite her age. This modest deed has deep meaning—it is a tribute to honoring the elderly and recognizing that value does not diminish with age.

In a world that frequently dismisses the elderly as burdens rather than reservoirs of wisdom, I find enormous beauty in accepting and loving aging. Our elders bring direction and knowledge, just as the vine tree provides shade and stability; their presence is a living history that we must preserve.

A love like my parents' has shown me what true devotion means. Their marriage, a beautiful testament to resilience and care, has been a beacon of what love can endure. Growing up, I have seen the way their love has shaped the foundation of our family, guiding us through both ease and hardship. I've come to understand that love isn't just about smooth days—it's about building something unbreakable even when the ground feels uncertain. My father's motivation, my mother's incredible strength, my brother's constant support and my grandparents' wisdom have all worked together to craft a home full of warmth. Like they say, “A house is built on sand, but a home is built with hands.” Now I remember why this captioned frame hangs in our hallway. Through every challenge, we've found a way, and now our home stands as proof of the love that holds us together.

Life is a journey, from root to branch, from dawn to dusk, each moment a dance. Every stage, to see ourselves in a song we sing, where each breath we take holds the wisdom it brings. The wrinkles, diminishing vision and shaky hands do not indicate deterioration, but rather the passage through a life filled with experience. Despite their age, my grandmother's hands continue to hold mine, guide me and develop me into the person I am today. In my eyes, these are the most beautiful hands in the world.