pennies in the fist
my late grandmother was the strongest woman i knew.
twenty-five years into her marriage, she lost her husband. she was left with children who already had families of their own. there were also one or two black sheeps who would break her heart and exhausted her soul. she did not let them shatter her spirit. at sixty-five, she stayed over and did not sit still, the way an elder should do. the toilet would be scrubbed, kitchen smelled like delicious meals, and beds would be spiffed. at sixty-six, she had a disagreement with one of her daughters, moved out of their house and lived on her own in a one-room flat. her son soon stayed with her, he brought along his wilful wife and unruly children. my grandmother took their verbal abuse, but remained cheerful whenever i came to visit. my mum would give her an allowance of $100, and i was to deliver the money to her every month. every visit, she gave me half her share. she ignored my resistance.
"this is our little secret."
we talked about my goals. she prayed i would get the deejay job i wanted. she boasted to everyone she met at the market, "my granddaughter will be the most popular deejay in singapore. she has the loveliest voice ever." when i told her i decided not to be a deejay, she said she would pray for me to be whatever i wanted to be. i kept my trust in her prayers more than in mine. one day, she found it difficult to stand for a long period of time, so she always sat down when she prayed. she said, "as you get older, you lose your appetite. i don't feel like eating much. i lost a lot of weight. maybe my time will come soon. but i will keep praying for you." the lump in my chest made it painful for me to breathe. i told her not to think about it, to keep on living because "precious days are given by god, and it brings us closer to him." she sewed pillow sleeves for me. they were made of orange fish against green swirls. it was ugly, there were five pillows. only one is left now, and it remains to be my most treasured possession. my grandmother died a week after.
she was the strongest woman i knew.
she faced her problems with a strong and silent heart. she lived quietly and did not trouble any of her children. she defined the decisions she made - wise, responsible, and always so generous. i knew the heartbreaks she suffered, and i knew she persevered on. she was a good person, never got into trouble, always did the right thing. because of my grandmother, i survived a broken family, picked myself up from my own insecurities, silenced the voices in my head, slapped myself out of a shame that wrecked me with guilt, cemented my broken heart. because of my grandmother, i find it difficult to empathise with certain human behaviour. something that was discussed with a friend left me inexplicably insulted. a strong woman i always knew, and nurtured to become, was not the same woman to others. it was a reality i could not accept. there was no right or wrong definition, i know that. only for this moment, i allow myself to succumb to the one thing i condemn: selfishness. i allow myself to remain in my own universe. if there is a line between determination and desperation, the decisions we make are pencils that mark that line. while we're all battling our own demons, how we choose to deal with them makes the difference. let me live in this world, it is the only one i know.
twenty-five years into her marriage, she lost her husband. she was left with children who already had families of their own. there were also one or two black sheeps who would break her heart and exhausted her soul. she did not let them shatter her spirit. at sixty-five, she stayed over and did not sit still, the way an elder should do. the toilet would be scrubbed, kitchen smelled like delicious meals, and beds would be spiffed. at sixty-six, she had a disagreement with one of her daughters, moved out of their house and lived on her own in a one-room flat. her son soon stayed with her, he brought along his wilful wife and unruly children. my grandmother took their verbal abuse, but remained cheerful whenever i came to visit. my mum would give her an allowance of $100, and i was to deliver the money to her every month. every visit, she gave me half her share. she ignored my resistance.
"this is our little secret."
we talked about my goals. she prayed i would get the deejay job i wanted. she boasted to everyone she met at the market, "my granddaughter will be the most popular deejay in singapore. she has the loveliest voice ever." when i told her i decided not to be a deejay, she said she would pray for me to be whatever i wanted to be. i kept my trust in her prayers more than in mine. one day, she found it difficult to stand for a long period of time, so she always sat down when she prayed. she said, "as you get older, you lose your appetite. i don't feel like eating much. i lost a lot of weight. maybe my time will come soon. but i will keep praying for you." the lump in my chest made it painful for me to breathe. i told her not to think about it, to keep on living because "precious days are given by god, and it brings us closer to him." she sewed pillow sleeves for me. they were made of orange fish against green swirls. it was ugly, there were five pillows. only one is left now, and it remains to be my most treasured possession. my grandmother died a week after.
she was the strongest woman i knew.
she faced her problems with a strong and silent heart. she lived quietly and did not trouble any of her children. she defined the decisions she made - wise, responsible, and always so generous. i knew the heartbreaks she suffered, and i knew she persevered on. she was a good person, never got into trouble, always did the right thing. because of my grandmother, i survived a broken family, picked myself up from my own insecurities, silenced the voices in my head, slapped myself out of a shame that wrecked me with guilt, cemented my broken heart. because of my grandmother, i find it difficult to empathise with certain human behaviour. something that was discussed with a friend left me inexplicably insulted. a strong woman i always knew, and nurtured to become, was not the same woman to others. it was a reality i could not accept. there was no right or wrong definition, i know that. only for this moment, i allow myself to succumb to the one thing i condemn: selfishness. i allow myself to remain in my own universe. if there is a line between determination and desperation, the decisions we make are pencils that mark that line. while we're all battling our own demons, how we choose to deal with them makes the difference. let me live in this world, it is the only one i know.