Maybe it was nostalgia, but as I stepped out of the elevator and knocked on the metal door for the first time in 6 years, there was a strange feeling of peace. Excited yelling comes from the other side, followed by the slow shuffling of slippers. It seems grandfather still like to drag his feet when he walks.

The person who greeted me was an elderly man, his white hair a fractured ring around his head and a face full of wrinkles that emphasized his smiling face instead of showing age. We embrace. Grandmother came next, an old woman with an air of liveliness and a wide smile, brown eyes displaying a hint of mischievousness. With the usual giddiness of a reunion, I was ushered in.

We sat on the balcony, sipping hot home brewed tea. Chatting about trivial things while listening to the bustling activity below. Grandmother showed me an award. It was grandfather's, given in recognition of his duties as a neurosurgeon. Grandfather laughed, said it was nothing, just some old document reminiscent of his career. I surprised him by showing interest in it.

“Tell me more” I said, turning on a voice recorder. Neurosurgery was my lifelong goal, my dream career.

"Well!" he laughed at that action. "Since you're that enthusiastic, I might as well!"

"If you want to become a neurosurgeon," he said, "you don't begin right away. I graduated from studying medicine, then transferred to the nervous system sector. It was very difficult, you have to enter training for at least 4 months after graduation before you could actually perform an operation". He paused to consider something, then continued talking merrily. "At the time, it was the most difficult and dangerous of all surgeries".

"But what was it that inspired you to become one?" I asked. If there’s one thing useless internet journalist facts taught me, it was to ask good questions. Good questions get you interesting info. Bad questions get you a shoe in the face.

“It was dangerous, but it saves a lot of lives." was his nonchalant reply. Suddenly, he put on a face of concentration and considered for a long time. We waited patiently - did he want to express his feelings about the old job, impart some important life advice for his granddaughter? Finally, grandfather looked me straight in the eye with a silly grin. "It makes me feel important", he declared with childish enthusiasm. Grandmother laughed.

"Ok then, how did you feel during the first days of your career? Everyone must start somewhere."

"Well of course you'd be scared, this is the brain we're talking about, mistakes could easily paralyse or even kill a person. Your hands do shake, but you've got to steel your determination, make them stop."

"That's got to be sooo annoying" a voice piped up. It revealed herself as my adorable little cousin, long black hair drooping down over a cappuccino brown shirt. Right now, she’s peeking behind the balcony's glass door, searching us with her gaze inquisitively. I smiled at her, and she returned the act with a grin that showed all her teeth.

"Continue!" she chirped. "I'm interested too!"

Grandfather smiled and restarted. He told us most of the time it was the older doctors that lead the newcomers, who mostly acted as assistants. That a lot of the time he had to rush to the hospital at "all sorts of ungodly hours", sometimes in the middle of thunderstorms.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"But the more people you save, the happier and more honourable you feel. Your skill improves with experience, but it's the ability to restore a broken family that’s nice. It feels good to know that by saving the patient, you ensured that his daughter can grow up with a father. That's what drove me on."

"Who was your first patient?" I asked.

Before he could begin again, grandmother intervened. “Lighten up!” She said, patting me on the back. "You sound so professional it's as if you're doing a job interview."

We all laughed then. Me bashfully, grandfather merrily, and my younger cousin in a happy trill that sounded surprisingly pleasant to the ear.

"This is just out of curiosity," said my precious little cousin, squatting down on a chair, "but was there a memorable patient?"

"And why he was memorable?" I continued, taking a sip from my cup.

Grandfather told us of a patient who had come to the hospital with a tumour that paralysed half his body. By then he was a senior, so he lead his own team and operated on the patient. They were successful and removed the tumour. "On the very same day that the operation was completed, his nervous system made a total recovery and movement was restored to his entire body. It was a miracle, and watching the overjoyed expressions of him and his family was one of the greatest pleasures you could experience as a surgeon." He took me by surprise when he patted me on the head, aiming a gentle smile at both his grandchildren. "Maybe one day you can experience that too."

"But what if you can't save the patient?" my ever-innocent cousin asked.

Jokingly, grandfather remarked that he'd obviously be dead. "It's unavoidable that you'd feel sad, somewhat responsible for their deaths. But the most important thing that comes out of failure is it generates determination to continue improving, so that when faced with a similar situation in the future, you’d be ready."

My little cousin tried her best to look solemn, drinking in every word. Grandmother expressed the hope that she'll be able to keep this outlook in mind.

It’s always a pleasure to watch sunsets, especially in other countries where the different ways the sunlight are reflected gives it a brand-new shade. I finished the last of my tea.

"Here's a final question, just before the mosquitoes fly out and eat us alive. What was a difficult challenge you overcame?"

Grandfather fiddled with his cup thoughtfully.

"That's no doubt going to be mastering operations, getting from a newbie to a senior member fit to lead an operation," he replied. "One of the most challenging parts of that was trying to save a patient on the brink of death, when breathing has almost stopped. Sometimes doing so requires you to work under a microscope, where every move could result in heavy bleeding. The worst thing is, this entire operation must be performed under time limit, very heavy responsibility."

"But if you succeed, that's the most wonderful relief in the world. It's like dragging them from the grasp of Death. I guess another challenge would be the longest time I've ever operated, 21 hours straight. I must thank my assistants for that, staying and helping through that torture. We were very proud of ourselves that day, we saved 18 lives."

"Like I said, being a neurosurgeon is a big responsibility. We sacrificed lots of our personal time, especially the continuous check-ups on the patient after operations. I also must thank your grandmother here for pulling through while I was at the hospital."

Grandmother smiled, now that our long conversation has ended, I turned off my voice recorder. There was an awkward silence while grandfather watched the sun dip beneath the horizon. At a sudden loss of what to do, we all just kind of watched him do that... no need to say that it was weird.

Grandmother promptly put an end to this nonsense by announcing it was dinner. "Haydee, don't look so blank, we're having Braised Pork tonight, your favourite!"

"Braised Pork?!" I stood up. "Ahh, I haven't tasted your recipe in years!"

END