It was quarter to 6pm, on the eve of the lunar new year.

I stuck my face out of the window- the air was cooling down, sun rays sobering to a sunset. 

There were few joggers and people downstairs, one by one returning home as the minutes ticked by and dinnertime rolled around.

The dinner table was set, a round hot pot with soup, surrounded by plates filled with ingredients- prawns, meat and fish, fresh raw veg, a platter of assorted mushrooms, cuttlefish paste balls, fish tofu.

We all took our places at the table, soup in the pot starting to simmer. It was time for reunion dinner, a time to celebrate strong family ties that last, no matter where in the world we may be.

 Growing up in Singapore, reunion dinners when I was younger meant walking over to grandma’s house, or hopping into a car and stepping into some restaurant. But now, living in another continent altogether and being able to return home for reunion dinner has given it so much more meaning. 

With chopsticks in hand and soup in bowl, all of us ate heartily and happily, a dinner together.

Our reunion dinner.

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