Friday, June 18, 2010

Grandma

The last time I saw her she was wearing a traditional Chinese shirt and trousers, olive coloured and impeccably pressed. Her hair was grayish, and wavy like mine and my mother’s hair. Hers was neatly combed and slightly oiled. Not a strand out of place. She wore a jade bracelet on her wrist. In short, she could have come straight out of a documentary on China.

When she spoke, it was with a very heavy accent, I could hardly understand what she said. We were in the living room one day, on a rare occasion that she visited, and I asked her about her life in China. She said the people in her area were mainly farmers and fishermen. I asked her if there were dragons back then. She said yes. They were huge and scary, with green scales as big as tampahs.

That was over twenty years ago, our last conversation. I had probably seen her around half a dozen times before then. And since then, my family had moved to Jakarta, and then to Sydney. The distance grew and grew. I had managed to visit various parts of Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Europe, and even the Middle East, but that tiny village in Air Joman had somehow been overlooked. Mom and I were planning to visit her next year, if Mom was healthy enough to travel again. But a few days ago I received news that Grandma had passed away. Logically there was no reason to feel sorrow and regret, since she never played a big role in my life. But her blood runs through my veins, and for a few days I felt a dull throb inside me, as if my blood was mourning the loss. And so I let myself feel the sorrow and regret, knowing I would never see Grandma again.