Candied, crushed sago't gulaman
This is a game where a girl helps her grandfather find his dashing hat. You solve puzzles. You explore a supposedly well kept mansion. You bluntly guess some solutions but the payoff is worth it.
Because much like this game’s storybook writing style, that hat is so very charming.
I remember the first time my grandfather got truly, belligerently angry with me, I laughed pretty hard. Note that I was a snotty brat devoid of empathy or the ability to take a hint. I was too enamored by afternoon anime and pellet gun showdowns that last till the early evening.
This story is not funny. Back then, I laughed because I was so scared. I was about to watch this cartoon about a time-travelling caveboy who needs to defeat malevolently-transformed beanie babies. In my haste, I accidentally slammed the door on his fingers.
Granddad Duanan howled and sputtered, splaying his fingers in front of him, the evidence of my crime. He tensed his flappy arms, his anchor tattoo poised to drop, as drew back for a backhanded slap. My cousin stepped between us and blocked his supposed assault.
Then from me, a giggle. Not a full laugh. Not even the sustained brays of hysteria. Just a second-long giggle. It’s either that or crying. Before that day, I only knew him as long bike rides and rocking chairs. Just this nice toothless old man. I didn’t know him as a balding, Old Testament purveyor of punishment.
I forgot he was human. All grandkids do, I guess. Grandparents are supposed to be indelible and steady. They are afternoons spent listening to AM radio dramas. They are faces pinched and cupped in gnarled hands. We forget they can also be aches and groans and tempers shortened by fear and time.
Thanks for making me remember that, Grandpa. I hope you realized I was only human, too.
Remember where Grandpa left his hat here or by clicking any of the screenshots.