Today's Muse: Carrots

I remember the day Mamah died.

I was twelve. Mother and Da had picked me up from school, and as a treat brought me to the new library at Takashimaya. We were sitting at one of the annoyingly flimsy tables that belonged to the in-house cafe, when Ma's phone went off.

When she relayed the news, Da simply looked down at his cup. Ma's eyes were slightly pink, and in her typical fashion said at least Mamah had gone peacefully.

And that was it.

The next day I went up to the teacher to ask if I might be allowed out early. Why, she asked. Oh, my Grandmother died. We've got a funeral.

Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?

I felt vaguely guilty that I was okay. It was unsettling; shouldn't one be more sad when someone dies? I was more affected by the death of the school rabbits than Mamah.

Da showed no outward signs of grief for his mother, not like the other member from his side of the family who came by thumping their chests and wailing. They only came to visit once every couple of Chinese New Years while Mamah stayed with us - and were complete dicks, but that's another story - and when Mamah was placed in a nursing home as she slipped further into dementia and her body began to fail her, only Da visited her.

I wonder what it was like, watching his mother die, and nothing he could do about it. He sacrifaced the most to take care of her, when none of her other children wanted her. Did he cry, while Kim and I were asleep in bed? Did he curse his lot silently? Or did he just push it all aside, ignoring it?


Ten years from now, I'll be twenty-seven, in the prime of my life. Ten years from now, Da will be seventy, the same age Mamah was when she became bedridden and stopped recognizing her children.

Part of the reason why the trip to Comic-Con in San Diego was scrapped was Da's health. These past couple of days have underlined the fact Da isn't exactly in the pink, especially.

I used to cry myself to sleep when I was a wee chit of a Missy, about Mother and Da dying and then what would I do? Now? I still tear, but not out of fear. I have a new goal; to do something big, something huge and breaking, to make my parents proud before they stop recognizing me. It's a fact; they won't be around forever, and neither will I.

So I'm off to get cracking.