Teatime: My grandma’s legacy
This is part of a weekly column in which we talk about anything under the sun
The air hangs heavy in Manila, but it's not the weather that has me feeling melancholic.
I'm here with my brothers, visiting our ailing grandmother, a woman who has weathered more storms than I can fathom.
As she breaches her mid-90s, she's a far cry from the imposing figure I remember from my childhood.
The woman who, at one time, broke a metre-long ruler over my backside now lies frail in her bed, her once-firm skin now wrinkled and sagging.
Once able to regularly beat me at Scrabble, she now struggles with her memory – she has repeatedly asked my brothers and me whether we’ve graduated and begun working, even though it’s been over a decade since I was last in school.
It’s heartbreaking to see her struggle with her failing health. Hearing my aunt detail a recent fall in the shower brought a lump to my throat. This woman, who once stormed into a police station after I was hit by a motorcycle in primary school, is now vulnerable and fragile.
But despite the sadness, there is a profound beauty in these twilight years. The past week, while tinged with worry, has been filled with a bittersweet warmth.
During one of her more lucid moments, my brothers, our cousins and I bombarded her with questions. We wanted to hear about her seeking shelter in the underground sewers from the horrors of World War II, her love life and what it was like working in a restaurant to provide for her four children.
They’re stories we’d heard many times over the years, but we figured that since she was asking us the same questions over and over again, we could do the same.
Her answers were straightforward. "I liked him," she said matter of factly when asked why she chose my late grandfather over several other suitors.
The laughter, the shared memories, the stories – these are the things that make me cherish this time with my grandmother. We may not be able to rewind time, but we can hold on to these precious moments.
This trip has been a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the preciousness of family. I'm not sure how much time we have left with her, but I’m grateful for every second, every fleeting smile, every whispered anecdote.
These are the moments that will forever hold a place in my heart, etched in the contours of her wrinkles, a testament to a life well lived.
And even though she jokingly declared me her favourite grandchild (my cousins will deny this fact, but don’t believe a word they say), the truth is, each of us has a special place in her heart.
As my brothers and I prepare to return to Singapore, a part of me feels a pang of sadness. But it’s a sadness that is mixed with gratitude, for the gift of her life and love.
I know that even though her memory might be fading, she’ll still be able to recognise our faces when we next visit.
She will also likely ask me if I'm working yet, for the umpteenth time.
Because that's what grandmothers do – they ask the same questions, tell the same stories and love us unconditionally.
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