My Grandmother

Everytime that I come home, and travel, I learn new things and remember old things about my extended family.

My grandmother is 86 this year. She was the prettiest little thing in Kampar and married my grandfather, who was the son of a rich man in Ipoh. My grandfather was an alcoholic and was one of those layabouts who never really fulfilled his role as provider of the family.

He was a lucky man when it came to gambling, though. As my mum tells me, "Tai yat pai, chong lok hap choy, tai yee pai, yau chong lok hap choy, tai sam pai, chong fan shi". (He struck lottery the first time, he struck it again a second time, and the third time, he struck death.)

Grandma was widowed from an early age and had to raise five children by herself, which was no mean feat in itself.

Her children all turned out pretty well, brought up with strong work ethics and moral values.

Grandma is the only grandparent I have ever known in person. Both my paternal grandparents and maternal grandfather died by the time that I was born.

Through the years, she has been a quiet unobtrusive presence in our growing up years, breaking the silence only to ask how we were, and to encourage us to "kan lik tit took shi ah!" (Study hard!)

She has been living with my mom's sister and brother in law (my tai yee and yee cheong) in the early years, and I remember the annual birthday celebrations that we would throw for po po. This usually meant an eight course meal at some fancy Chinese restaurant, which was always a treat that we little children looked forward to.

During these dinners, po po would join in the initial conversations, but soon fade into the background as the families start to converse in English, inadvertently excluding her from the ongoing topics. She would never complain, however, and continue to happily feed away at her sharks' fin or suckling pig.

She has remained relatively healthy in her old age. Age has left her with a walking posture like that of a hen - leaning forward with her arms folded behind her, one foot plodding after the other. Time has left her health relatively untouched - she climbs stairs with the speed of a forty year old, and with the surprising silence of a trained assassin.

One thing that time has robbed her of, however, is her mental faculties. Over the past few years, po po has been stricken with dementia, leaving her short term memory ravaged. She would often repeat questions, much to our amusement. My youngest uncle once made a funny observation, that grandma would make for an awesome inquisition - she would be able to break down any spy or prisoner of war, simply with her gentle repeated, repeated, repeated questioning.

But some things evoke more sadness than mirth - having the memory of a goldfish means that po po gets terrified every time she gets left alone for too long. My yee cheong was telling us how they would leave the house for a period of time, and, in the early days, po po would subtly hint at her fear of being left alone - "When are you coming back? Should I be cooking for you?". Right now, it is a full blown somatisation of her anxieties - "My head doesn't feel right. I think I need to see a doctor" - whenever they leave her home alone.

The way that age has tinkered with her brain also means that she has conversations with herself and sometimes sees her sister who has been dead for many years. Almost as if po po was suspended in time, an unwitting intermediary between the living and those who have gone before us.

But her appetite and strength remain intact, and it was a pleasure seeing her again this time. I know that there is still some feistiness left in this old lady, as she told me off for being twenty eight and not getting married yet!

Sorry lah, po po, my dear grandmother, the gentle grand old dame of our lives.