When I was younger, my family had a tradition of post-dinner karaoke. Our couch was overfilled, and if anyone else wanted to join, they’d have to pull up step stools and boxes. My grandma and her four sisters would sit at the dining table and gossip with their mouths full of different fruits. She would always make a separate plate of fruit for the couch, as it is how she shows her love. Cousins, uncles, siblings, aunts, and family friends would come over and be forced to eat before they could sing.

Our couch was full of love and liveliness, and we would take turns with the microphone. I never held the microphone when my family was there, since I felt like my singing ability was beyond saving. But one song that we could all share was “Slow Dancing in the Dark” by Joji. With or without a microphone, every person in our tiny home would sing along. Only when this song was playing did I use my voice, and I felt more connected to my family than ever.

By the next holiday, our couch would only be half full. Some joined the military, some joined the police forces, some moved away for college, and some moved to a different state. With the few of us, we would continue to pass the mic, and I would still deny it every time. I liked to take up the whole couch and eat the fruits my grandma cut for us. My grandma’s pots grew smaller, but we still had food left over.

Nowadays I find myself singing that song alone at night. I reminisce about the days when I was accompanied by people who loved each other unconditionally. I took that time for granted, and while I regret that, I am glad I was able to share those little things with all of them. I found that the connection I built with my family is irreplaceable and will always hold a warm place in my heart.