Colorful. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Purple. Under the bright afternoon sun, the clear, fragile balls in different sizes glow in seven colors like a portal to a different world.  It danced with the winds in a soothing melody. Unworldly, like an angel flying towards the sun. The bubbles disappear whenever it comes in contact with something. Melting into whatever they touched. Passing through the matter and giving their magical power. Across the street, a girl surrounded by vibrant bubbles was holding a pink bubble blower. The thin delicate spheres lingered around the circular ring of the bubble blower unwilling to let go. I stared dazedly at the dreamy scene of the bubble sea. Then one of the angle drifts over and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek. Because of that kiss, I feel in love with them.

My Grandpa lives in a small populated town in China, where everybody in the town knows everybody else in town. My grandpa’s house was a two-floor house made of wood, with no air conditioning and no indoor water system. It had a newly painted green wooden double door that opens up to an empty white guest room, a closet and a short hallway leading to the stairs. The creaking stairs rounded up to the second floor with a bedroom to the right, and a storage room to the left. The storage room smells like a forest, it gives me a sense of protection and the feeling of freedom in nature. I keep all of my barbie dolls in the storage room, where I could play house with my sister and the other older sisters in the neighborhood without being disturbed. The bedroom is small with a full bed and an old boxed television. It had a door that leads to a balcony, where I can look down and see my grandpa and the neighboring grandmas talking and preparing foods.

On a peaceful afternoon, my grandpa and the neighboring grandparents gathered in neighbor’s front yards to play board games like every other day. My sister and I were left in charge of the bigger neighboring sisters. While they were playing inside the house, my sister and I quietly sneaked into the dark kitchen. The kitchen was a small cement room attached to the side of the house, one must exit the house to get to the kitchen. It is about six square yards, with only a narrow row to walk on. In the kitchen, there is a shelf where we put all the plates and utensils. By the shelf, there is a workplace with a rice cooker and many other pots sitting on top. I scanned around the kitchen and find what I am looking for, the knife. The dark knife was placed in a knife holder beside the rick cooker. I carefully pull the cutting tool from its home and examine the beautiful spotless body of the blade. It was sharpened so often that it reflects every light that strikes it. I thought I caught a glint of red light flashed in my eyes from the reflection on the knife. I then tuck the knife carefully in a leather packet.

My sister and I lurk at the corner of the old house. Our tiny heights about three feet gives us some advantages to hide in the shadow of the house. I retain my sister behind me, while I peek around the corner. Slowly, I inched my head toward the edge carefully to scoot only far enough for me to see and still have my face covered. Two of my eyes just emerge from the edge of the corner, then... Crunch! I jump at the sound behind me. I swirl around and find my sister staring at me with those dark innocent eyes. Her dark hair was pulled up in two flapping pigtails. She wears a jean jacket over a pink tank top and a faded blue skirt with a black Mary Jane shoes. One of her cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk, and her lips pinched tight like a raisin trying to contain all the candies in her mouth. Then she held out her handful of candy toward me and stared at me questioningly. Her large puppy-like dark eyes gazed at me as if asking me if I want some candy too. Just then I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. I quickly grab the extended hand of my sister and dash for the alley ahead.

The alley is created from the space between my grandpa’s house and the neighbor’s house. The sunlight is blocked from the hovering roof, leaving the alley dark and damp. I feel the moist air lingered in the air as I entered the alley with my sister. Avoiding contact with the green slimy moss-covered walls, I carefully lead my sister toward the sink in the middle of the alley. The sounds of our footsteps and the dripping water from the sink’s broken faucet were the only sound in the alley, echoing off the gross wall. I set everything on the jutted out table that was attached to the wall and the sink beside it. A knife wrapped in leather, a bottle cap, a cup, and a bottle of dish soap. I want to create my own bubble maker. I want to recreate the scene of the beautiful bubble sea. I want to fly and play with the vibrant angles. Under the dim light, I start by pouring some water and dish soap in a cup and mix until the water dulls and forms bubbles. While I get everything ready, my sister enjoys her candies beside me.

I clench a blue bottle cap in my left, and the obsidian-dark knife in my right. I am ready to begin my project in the dark. The knife-edge sparkled when a stream of sunlight hit it straight on. I slowly inch the knife towards the bottle cap measuring the best spot to target. When the blade reached the cap, it went through with little force, penetrates the cap as if it was cutting jello. I cautiously direct the point to go in a circular motion to make a complete circle in the center of the cap. Then the smooth cut was interrupted like a soothing music cut off suddenly by a loud clank. “Oh, it is just stuck, I just need to put a little more force on it.” I thought. Push. Nothing. Push. Nothing. Push. Like a starving lion leaping for food, the knife break free from the cap and slide across my palm in a millionth of a second. Shocked, I watched as the bright red conquered my palm mixing with the water in my hand. “What just happened? What is this red stuff?” my mind still focused on the masterpiece I’m going to make. Confused, I placed my hand under the faucet trying to wash away the red.

There is a scar about one inch long under the thumb on my left palm. It appears in a lighter skin tone and feels smoother and harder than the other skin on my palm. Whenever I see the scar, I was reminded of my playful and cheesy childhood action. It reminded me of all the happy memories that I share with my sister in my grandpa’s house. I miss the worried less life I had back when I was in my grandpa's house. I miss the old but comforting house. I miss the empty but refreshing guest room. I miss the tilted but suiting stairs. I miss the dirty but useful storage room. I miss the small but cozy bedroom. I miss everything that shared my childhood memory and love the scar that reminded me of them.