When I was sixteen, a typhoon tore a corner off the old house's roof.
In the middle of the night, the rain poured down. I was woken by the crackling sound from the roof. Pushing open the door, I saw my father climbing a ladder to paste tarpaulin over the beams, while my mother held a flashlight that wobbled violently in the wind and rain. "Get back inside!" my father shouted, his voice shredded by the wind.
The next day, the roof leaked even worse. There were five basins placed on the living room floor to catch the water, their drip-drip-drip like a messy tune. I squatted on the threshold, lost in thought, when I suddenly heard my mother say to my father, "What if we use the money set aside for our daughter's computer to fix the roof first?" Father didn't say a word, just patted my head.
Unexpectedly, in the evening, my uncle next door came with his three sons. Uncle carried planks on his shoulder, and my cousins held buckets of cement. They walked in and scolded, "Why keep such a thing to yourselves?" They worked on the soaked tiles, while my mother boiled ginger soup in the kitchen. My older female cousins and I squatted under the eaves, passing nails to them. Raindrops hit their backs, mixing with sweat and streaming down, yet no one complained of tiredness.
When the roof was fixed, a faint rainbow hung in the sky. Uncle slapped my father on the shoulder, laughing loudly. My mother handed boiled eggs to every child, and one of my cousins secretly slipped me a pack of chocolates: "I know you've been looking forward to the computer. Next month when I get my salary, I'll add some money to help."
Later, when I got my own house, I specifically chose the sturdiest roof during the renovation. But every time it rains, I always think of that leaking night — a group of people came through the mud, using their rough palms and hot ginger soup to keep the wind and rain outside.
It turns out that family are not just people who happen to live under the same roof. They are the ones who quietly take on your troubles when you frown; who offer their shoulders when you're confused; no matter how heavy the storm, there will always be a group of people willing to hold up a rainproof sky for you.
The greatest luck in life is not meeting perfect family, but becoming each other's armor, making every ordinary day shine with the light of "we are together".
