Went to the temple with my grandmother the other day. I like the incense smell of temples, and the joss sticks dissolving upwards into smoky swirls. The priest—round face and saffron robe—sprinkled holy water on us with a stalk of plump chrysanthemums, then we burned lotus-flower candles and laid them at the feet of the giant golden Buddha statue. Enlightenment radiated from his head in animated neon lines.

I don’t know her very well, my grandmother, but I like it when she talks about her ah ba and ah ma. She was telling, that morning, about how her mother used to scent the homemade fermented-rice face wash with flowers.