DEAR GRANDMA

FOURWORD

Tip-of-the tongue
what is the word?
hands in your hair
thinking about
others – ah it’s
humility!

HAIK-U

Speaking of poets
like old friends, I must meet your
beloved Hardy.

BUTTERFLIGHT

Slate blue eyes, adorned with coral
you see beyond the mundane,
capturing light as it skims the leaves,
iridescent clouds, effervescent memories
in shadowy towers and age-old palaces.  

Attentive to whispers of feeling:
Timmy is watering the flowers-
maybe something is blossoming
between us. 

People like you are pockets of goodness,
strong, as nothing erodes it.
You land softly onto my shoulder
and teach me how to be lovely.

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Coffee cake & tea

It has not yet been a full 24 hours since I reached my destination: Dorset. ‘Just’ Dorset of the hay stacks and fields, verdant narrow lanes, brick houses and 13th century churches. Just Dorset where most strangers and even more of them with dogs say hello as you pass them by. It’s the countryside that my grandmother loves.

How was the flight? She inquired. My parents got lucky with a business class upgrade. When my mum whispered it to me, I’d rejoiced thinking we’d all gotten it. The trick is to purchase Premium Economy tickets, be the latest in line, a professor, and a beloved frequent flyer. Dad offered to switch places with me but when he came to check up on me midway through the flight, I was eating my black bean chicken and rice, refreshed from the best sleep I’d had on a plane since I was small enough to lay my head on mum’s lap. Neck strain was something I grew into. Vomiting was something I seem to have grown out of. I had claimed the two vacant seats beside me, which spanned my whole left side when I bent my knees slightly. THANK YOU GOD! I kept smiling to myself. It was, dare I say it, an enjoyable flight. I caught in the reflection of my screen the handsome dad behind me,  entertained by his beautiful green-eyed daughter. She was the kind of child to point at the horse-racing on tv in the immigration line and shout excitedly about the beams. “That’s like the one you rode right, daddy! Is he galloping or trotting?” “Yes, yes it was”, the dad mumbled distractedly as he typed on his phone. I wondered where the mum was.

I felt a strange pride when the immigration lady checked our passports and examined us, one by one. I love identifying the resemblances between family members. Yes, I am quite obviously the product of an Englishman and a Chinese woman. Sitting across from my parents at lunch, I realised that I have mum’s cheekbones, my sister dad’s eyebrows. And again on the taxi in the periods of quiet between the driver cursing the traffic, I felt that strange pride as my parents spoke to one another in Chinglish; English with Chinese stripes or Chinese with English stripes? Once, I asked my mum if daddy organised trips and managed finances too. She said: “we do different things”. I sat between them, a symbol of their complements.

When grandma showed me to my room, formerly her study, I saw that the walls were adorned with pictures of my family. My first day of school in a plum dress and a hat. Pictures of when I looked like a boy. My brother in a tub, my sister in a cable car. We occupy the corners of bathrooms; we are everywhere. We grandchildren are thought of often.

Today, she looked at me as I sat by the window reading a new book. She came to me silently and bent down to give me a hug, just because.

Poppy

The parents are coming back soon, tomorrow-soon, which means two things: I’ll have the luxury of considering a wax and I won’t be won’t be able to blast music or play the piano in the late am. I remember the glorious first day after they left; the clothes came off and the music came on. I shimmied in the mirror and swirled my imaginary skirt like a queen because I owned this place. It was so liberating. I had the license to grab the wine, sleep on the sofa, do whatever I pleased. Almost like having my own apartment. Minus what it takes to survive in real life: bills, cooking, cleaning. Thank God for grandmothers.

Have I been wearing clothes at home for a month? No, the answer is no. And I don’t want to do away with this privilege. My grandmother and my aunt have grown accustomed to the butt cheeks peeking out of my undies. It’s kind of funny how my grandmother so cooly remarked: “oh you’re not wearing clothes again”. It’s fine as long as there are no dudes around, she says. We both pull up our shirts when it gets too hot.

This summer, I’ve learned that I’m more like her than I ever would have imagined and hoped for. I remember delighting over the fact that my grandmother and I were both born in the year of the Rat… Because nothing feels better than being comparable to someone or something you love dearly. My counsellor said that we resemble our greatest influences and attachment figures, and this has revealed to me a completely new and refreshing dimension to self-discovery. When she said it, I was like- of course! But it never occurred to me that it applied to me too. It gives me such hope for the person I’d like to be and the person I’m becoming.

She and I share commonalities on many levels. We both love talking to people and learning tidbits from them; stories with morals, testimonies, anecdotes and transgenerational wisdom. We love to laugh and she is often the object of my teasing- only because she is such a good sport. In fact, I basically christened her with another English name, because ‘Susan’ didn’t quite suit her. It was kind of a joke but it stuck. She’s animated, expressive, creative, and she loves to do things. Sounds like I’m describing myself. I love her honesty and her innocence, although she has seen and suffered more than I ever have. I would like to think that I evaluate my intentions with the same conviction she does, with the same brutal honesty: I am wrong. Even if it is normal because everyone participates to some extent, I am still wrong. But the thing that makes her a gift to everyone she meets is that she is selfless, loving, and generous. If I’m to pinpoint something that sets my heart on fire and makes me happy to be alive, it is to witness the joy of one who receives love. I am compassionate and forgiving. Not all the time, I regret, but these are qualities I love and treasure in myself. Where did I learn them? I can’t say for sure but I think I have a pretty good guess.

Challenge #4

I love my grandmother to pieces. I love her I love her I love her. I know she won’t be around forever but I will pray every day for her so that she may be even more blessed than she already is. I pray that she will one day see my children (or child) and that they will have the privilege of meeting her. This is what my heart aches for. Literally. I want it so badly it hurts. It’s slighty selfish because I feel like I need her; she strengthens my faith. And my prayer is really a three-in-one request.
1) I’ll have a husband
2) I’ll have a child and most importantly
3) that my grandmother lives to see her/him.

God’s will takes precedence over my plans. I just pray and hope that He’ll grant me these blessings.

Pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
I Thessalonians 5:17-18