Sang Yat Fai Lok

The Husband of My Mother's Sister

"Hey dude, can you do me a favour, and pick out a cake for him?" I hastily smsed my brother.

The rain was starting to pour torrentially, the wind wailing and the heavy drops lashing against our car as if the sky were mourning the death of her father.

We were headed to an extended family reunion at a Chinese restaurant, and we wanted to surprise my uncle for his birthday with a cake.

Tradition

As I was categorising the photos these holidays, I have compiled a whole album dedicated to the gatherings that we used to have for my Popo's birthdays.

Once a year, the three families in KL, and occasionally the ones from Ipoh would gather around a Chinese feast of eight courses, commemorating my grandmother's birthday.

This has gone on for as long as I can remember - we were little kids when this annual tradition was started. My older cousin sister - their daughter - would often entertain us three little runts by making star shapes from five pliable toothpicks, and then making a necklace out of them. My cousin brother would often tease us about how fat or dark we had become.

It was a great time of family togetherness and laughter shared over a lavish spread. Scraping by on my parent's income with the three of us as well, this would often be our only shark's fin meal of the year. And it is through the generosity of my uncle, who would always foot the bill, that we were able to have this annual tradition, one that we still cherish till today.

Although it has dissipated somewhat in our later years, what with Popo staying up in Ipoh on occasion, and the rest of the younger generation scattered all around the world, the three of us have taken it upon ourselves to carry on this wonderful family tradition. So it may not be her birthday, but it was a great occasion to meet up anyway.

Salt of the Earth

We listened as little children about how Ee Cheong was so poor, and yet very determined. He would study under the streetlamps and even traffic lights when the generators went off at a certain hour of the night in the small town where he lived.

He got his degree in chemical engineering, one of the few, if not the only person in his family with a university degree. He worked hard for one of the big petroleum companies in Malaysia, and this sense of achievement carried on in his daughter, our Piu Je, who was one of the first among our generations to be a doctor.

His humble beginnings, though, has kept Ee Cheong fairly down-to-earth. He was a man of fewer words in his younger days, but he would always smile and wave away our thanks after Popo's annual dinners. Money was secondary for the priceless memories that we were afforded.

Surprise!

The eight-course dinner ends, and the modern sturdy, sharp toothpicks (which had no star-making potential whatsoever) dangle out of one or two of our mouths tere. We are mulling over dessert after a filling dinner, and ready to leave.

The waiter brings out the cake box, and although indiscreet, my uncle peers out of the corner of his eyes disinterestedly and suspects nothing.

But suddenly the cake is revealed, and he is genuinely surprised. You could see him blush through his tanned skin, and his grin stretches from ear to ear, crinkling his face and hiding his eyes for a moment.

"You guys ah... Sneaky..." his finger wags in our direction playfully.

The candle is lit and our voices resonate through the restaurant in singing him a happy birthday. He blows out the candles, still grinning like a little boy.

As we are eating our cake, he suddenly speaks. I know that it had taken all the courage in the world for him to do so.

"Hey, guys, really ah... Thank you." He swallows. "I am a man who is rarely able to express himself, but truly, thank you."

"You know, we never really had birthday cakes growing up and when you're poor, birthdays were just another day in the year. It was a luxury that we could not afford, you know? So you guys ah, surprising me like this ah..." He grins. "I really don't have to words to tell you how truly appreciative I am."

He swallows hard again, his eyes fixed on his plate, and for the briefest of moment his smile disappears. It reappears quickly though, as he reaches for his fork and helps himself to a little more cake.

We sit in slightly awkward silence, not knowing how best to respond to this outpouring of gratitude. Here was a man who had blessed us all these years with a tradition that we cherish until this day, and yet his thankfulness was all the more humbling in that regard.

We ended the night with raucous conversation and laughter, and left the restaurant into the night.She was quiet now, tired after her sudden emotional outburst - the deep puddles of water which we skipped around gingerly the only remaining evidence of her crying that night.

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(Postscript: Driving home that night, I thought about this show I watched, based on a true story. It was called Fighting The Odds: The Marilyn Gambrell Story, and it was about a parole officer who starts up a programme called 'No More Victims' in a high school in the US. This programme was targeted at the children who had parents in jail, who were six times more likely to end up in jail themselves, in order to stop the trend.

There is this one scene, where one of the toughest kids in class in surprised by his classmates with a birthday cake. They surround him, and sing out to him at the top of their voices, and he is doing his best to pretend to be unmoved by his friends and teacher. He is frowning, and his stance is defensive, but the tears suddenly flow freely and his body shakes with his sobs.

It was the first time in all his seventeen years that anyone remembered his birthday. It was his first birthday cake ever.

I think about my childhood and all the birthdays that we had. Sure, we never had grand parties or lavish gifts, but Mum always insisted that there would be cake. The cake reminded us that we were remembered, and our milestones celebrated, but above all, that we were loved.)