From the Pen of a Writer

Two years back, I wrote a story for my friend. I wrote about her father who died of colon cancer. I wanted to give her something, something that would help her reminisce of her late father, something that would give her strength to carry on. And she was so grateful to have seen the story published in the newspaper. It gave me a sense of achievement; to have done something special for a good friend and had her appreciate it.

A year later, my Godmother (who was also my aunty) was diagnosed with the same disease. I watched in agony how her body started to decay, giving way to the disease, though all she wanted to do was to live on to see her grandson grow up. I remembered once, her five-year-old grandson gave her a peck on her right cheek. She smiled, letting the pale face drown. It was as though she was well again. We all knew her birthday was around the corner but could only pray silently, hoping she would make it through.

My Godmother passed away on January 1, 2009. Her birthday was on January 2. We only sang her a birthday song by the coffin after the wake service.

I had been writing since my secondary years and had always enjoyed doing so. I told myself I was going to write about her and get it published in the papers like I did for my friend’s father. But until today, I could not bring myself to start writing.

Mummy

Every Monday night, she makes iced milo for the whole family. On week days, she comes home complaining about her colleague and her boss. And then she starts lecturing me for not helping out with the household chores (which I never learnt to). Later at night, she starts peeling oranges or cutting apples for my brother and I. Often, she likes to boast of her young days when there were rich men checking her out! On Thursday nights when Daddy goes to play badminton, she starts to watch korean dramas and starts tearing, with my brother and I laughing at her. When she learns a new English word and tries to tell us about it, we would tease and start imitating her, pronouncing the words the way she does (which were most of the time, inaccurate). During the weekends, she wakes up early in the morning to buy us bread and to cook, when all of us are still asleep. When lunch is ready, she wakes us up. After lunch, she does the dishes. Then we all go shopping together, and my brother and I could buy all the fancy stuff we want.

When I was back home, I only saw all these things as ordinary. It was until I left home that I realized that Mummy had not had much time for herself. All the time and money she had was spent on us, spent on providing us with a life she had never had. Though these are all simple gestures, they are the things only one person would and could do; Mummy.

daddy

I was so happy to be home. At supper, I sat across daddy. I could not help but notice he was growing old; he had started to have hairfall and the veins in his arms seemed more oblivious than they had ever been all these years. I reminisce of the exact time I received the letter of offer from the National University of Singapore. I was thrilled! However, I could not secure a scholarship. After daddy and I did the calculations, we realized he could not possibly afford to send me there. Daddy told me, “It is okay, I will sell my car off and get a cheaper one. With the proceeds, I will buy the Sing Dollars when it is cheapest”. I paused. My dream was to read law abroad, but I was only offered a place to do Economics. I told daddy I would stay and read law in UKM though I knew he would have prefered me doing Economics in Singapore.

“Whether or not you go to NUS, it does not matter. Because I have heard my colleagues boast of their nieces and nephews going there, but it was never their own children. Now I can tell them my kid had been accepted! If you read law at UKM, it would be just as good. You are the first in the family to go to university and you are studying to become a lawyer! I could not possibly ask for a better daughter than you. Whatever you do, my support of your decision never wavers.”

Daddy was an orphan adopted by grandpa and grandma at the tender age of six. He had never seen his biological father, let alone be loved by him. And his foster father died before he was twenty. Yet, he loves me more than any other father could ever love his child. He was ready to pay if I wanted to go and was in full support when I chose to stay. I went to UKM, carrying the hope of my daddy's. And though I miss him so much I would rather stay in Penang, it is that same figure who gives me strength to go back and carry on. It may be tough out there, but as the cliche goes, 'what does not kill you makes you stronger'.

Imperfect

We watched in awe as she stood up and took a slow pace ascending the stairs. As soon as her name was announced, we applaud in honour of a lady who was crippled, yet was to receive her PHD from the Chancellor at the Convocation. What moved us was when the vice-Chancellor helped her to the center stage. I saw with my own eyes how an imperfect being could be crafted and moulded into a graduate, someone just as good if not better than we are. Could we do better than her taking into account the fact that we are not any lesser physically? Or do the words of Mahatma Ghandi actually paint the truth? 'Strength does not come from physical capacity but from an indomitable will'.

-Denise Khoo

Malaysians oh, Malaysians

“Oh sister, they have KFC here!” exclaimed my brother when he saw the KFC banner at the Za’ba cafeteria. For all we knew, it was a whopper! So, my daily menu switched from Chinese hawker food to Malay food. And my life from all grandeur and pomposity to a humble beginning of taking public transportations. Travelling by monorails and KTMs gave me a cultural shock (though I am still in Malaysia). Often, the passengers trying to board, stood at the door upon the trains’ arrival, leaving no gap for cutting cues. So, I was among those sandwiched during my first experience on KTM.

NOTE: I thought this was a hundred-word assignment? haha... some seem lengthy...