As I was walking up the steps to the temple, all I could think about was the blistering heat. I paid no mind to the array of roses, the scrambling kids, or my slow-moving parents behind me. I just wanted to escape the blazing weather and be inside of that overcrowded temple already. As I entered through the doors, I felt a delightful gush of AC. I had been melting from being outside. Sadly, there was only one spot left between a woman with a head of white and her toddler granddaughter. My parents and I squeezed through and sat down.
Oh, the lecture was tiring. My legs were achingly asleep. Then, as I looked up, there were a cluster of young girls in long ao dai (Vietnamese dresses), carrying baskets of red and white roses. At that moment, I remembered at once! OH NO! It was the celebration of Vu Lan, the Buddhist holiday in honor of parents... and I felt like a twat for not remembering. I got up and fetched a red rose for my father and me, and a white rose for my mother. Red roses symbolize the fullness and beauty of having a living mother, whereas white roses meant a cold, incomplete life without a mother. After I clipped on the rose onto my mother's shirt, I held her hand as she started bawling over my grandmother.
Vivid, significant, and beautifully written. You use details really well here, and you definitely portray a scene. Excellent post.
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