Before his passing, my grandpa Karr built a pagoda, where he and his friends from Singapore gathered and conversed. Though I never had the chance to meet my grandfather, a photo of him building the pagoda hangs on a wall in my grandmother’s house. In that photo, he smiles, a testament to the joy he finds in creating. I visited the pagoda in summer 2022 for the first time, over two decades after my grandfather erected the structure. I felt an eerie sense of loss. The window, once elaborate and multicolored, lay shattered. Panels were askew, and a small Buddha statue was missing its head. Amidst the decay, I could not help but smile. To this day, the temple is surrounded by life. Lizards run on its weathered walls, and untamed weeds stand almost as tall as I do. The sounds of birds chirping in the nearby, lush, deep green forest, fills the air. Nature continues to persist in the ruins, just as my grandpa’s spirit does. After my visit, I knew that I needed to capture not just what I saw, but what I felt when I stood in its interior. Thus, while painting this artwork, I sought to capture the pagoda’s eccentricity while also metaphorically “restoring” the temple to its former glory. Once a place of a prayer and gathering, the pagoda now stands as a monument of my grandpa’s memory.