Hello Houpu 后浦!

19 June 2019

On 14 June 2019, 28 years after her demise, I finally arrived at Houpu (后浦), the birthplace that my grandma pined for all her life, but never got to return to.

“Gua si ongg. Gua di aw paw cu xi. Gua si kim meng lang,” my grandma would chant these 3 sentences depicting her origin in Minan language to just about anyone who would listen.

“我姓翁. 我在后浦出世. 我是金门人.” (Mandarin translation)

“My surname is Ongg. I was born in Houpu. I’m a Kinmen person.” (rough English translation)

At the entrance of a recently restored ancestral shrine belonging to surname Ongg/ Weng 翁， which is my grandma’s surname. I told my grandma her precious surname is now newly painted in gold and no amount of bad spelling or poor English translation can undermine it.

She held on to the above 3 expressions for dear life and was able to tell us who she was right to the end, even when dementia rendered her incapable of recognising her own grandchildren.

In my primary school days, one of her favourite activities was to show me her S’pore Citizenship Card issued on pink vanguard paper. She had it bundled up with other important documents with a handkerchief which she tied the four corners together to make it into a folder of sorts.

She would unknot the handkerchief and remove her citizenship card like a cherished mandate. Then she would direct my eyes to the romanised version of her name, “Ang Gaey,” handwritten in blue ink. She would also remind me that it had been wrongly translated. The cadences in the Minan language by which she was named had no corresponding sounds in the English Language.

Auspicious words continue to be displayed on the doors of an old house in Houpu. Words when written with love become a talisman for good.

In my teens, instead of becoming more understanding of my grandma’s insecurity about her poorly translated name on government documents, I became annoyed with her for boring me with such dated & inconsequential details.

Wang Ling, founder of 后浦泡茶间Houpu Teahouse shares old pictures of Houpu with me. It was an honour to receive advice from her. When I was at her age, I was still struggling with personal stuff. And here she is running a teahouse to promote exchange of ideas on culture, society, arts and craftsmanship.

But now in my aging years, and as a teacher of language, it hits me extra hard that my illiterate grandma having been separated from her birth family at age 7, must have been so desperate to preserve whatever bits of information pertaining to her origin. And to have her adoptive country, Singapore, getting something as basic as her name wrong on official papers must be very unsettling indeed.

Perhaps repeating her details to me was the only way she knew how to protect her identity & stay connected to her roots.

The fear of forgetting looms in a person like some invisible illness that those with means to documentation may find it hard to empathise with.

As I strolled the streets of my forefathers, “Houpu (后浦)” is no longer a strange sounding word repeated by a neurotic old woman. And I deeply regretted the times when I was dismissive and cruel even, towards an old lady who couldn’t stop talking about her surname, her birthplace and her island.

Had I the compassion & intelligence to listen more and judge less then, I might have helped to mitigate her unspeakable sense of loss and loneliness.

On this trip, strings of red lanterns with the characters Houpu (后浦) written on them swayed lightly above me in the cool summer breeze as if saying to me & my grandma, “Yes, yes! This is Houpu! And you are home!”

As I stopped to greet the ancient Banyan tree whose branches rose to touch the window of Houpu Tea House (后浦泡茶间) above, I felt a sense of peace & grounding even though I wasn’t born there.

After this visit, I feel that my grandma is no longer that frightened little girl who was made to sail from Kinmen to Singapore, and then spent her whole life trying to find her bearing. Far from being lost, I think my trip has helped her gain back her footing and now she has two places to call home, Houpu (后浦) and Singapore.

On the deck of Houpu Tea House (后浦泡茶间) overlooking Wu Miao, the temple dedicated to Kwan Gong, the Warrior God of Righteousness & Justice.

Thanks to her persistence in talking about Houpu (后浦) despite the sniggers she received, a whole world of new experiences has opened up for me, many years after her life had ended.

So I wish for all my friends, the tenacity of my grandma to keep talking about what we love & believe in, be it a name, or larger topics such as gender equality, animal welfare, good governance etc, even when no one seems to care. Because one day, someone is bound to pick up your message & thank you for it. 🙏

An Overdue Thank You

14 June 2019

The temple’s intricate stone and wood works have calming effects on me. I felt unusually solid even though I was physically tired from climbing the steps.

Wudao City God Temple (浯岛城隍庙) is located in Houpu (后浦）the birthplace of my grandma. “Wudao” is the old name of Kinmen Island. A “city god” in Taiost beliefs is a protector deity of the city, ensuring its environment and inhabitants live in harmony.

The temple dedicated for this purpose of peace & protection for all is more than 300 years old. In fact it just held its 339th year of celebration on 22nd April this year.

Otter name conferring contest was held alongside the temple’s 339th year of celebration showing that all lives are sacred.

One of its recent temple celebratory activities was to organise a name conferring contest for two otter pups in order to highlight the challenges faced by the Eurasian otters that share the waterways of Kinmen Island.

Stepping into this temple was like stepping back in time. I know that the furnishings in the temple and architecture have been renovated many times, but the space where my grandma and her family members would have visited is still the same.

In this space I can connect with all my ancestors who have ever prayed at this temple.

In the sunny afternoon with beams of light filtering in from the openings above the temple, I walked about and imagined what it might have been like a 100 years ago in that space where I was.

As I rested my tired legs, wafts of incense fragrance mixed with the familiar smells of joss paper offerings made me feel homey and at ease. When I touched her silver belt which I had kept in the pocket of my denim jeans, I connected with my grandma across time.

At the Protector Deity seated in the centre of the altar I gave thanks for His protection & blessings on the 7-year-old child bride who was born in Wudao in 1914, grew up to become my grandfather’s wife, became my dad’s mom, was widowed and became my grandma before passing on at 77 in 1991.

Kinmen Wind Lion Guardian Mandala for Full Moon

17 June 2019

Wind Lion Guardians are made of stone & earth elements for their grounding effects. Capes are put on them as a gesture of respect & gratitude for their protective presence. Some islanders change their windlions’ capes based on seasonal celebrations. Sometimes what others see as idolatry may be just simple signs of connection with the universe.

The inhabitants of Kinmen Island place stone carvings of mythological lions (风师爷 feng shi ye) at strategic locations for protection from powerful winds and other elements that are beyond human control.

Over the years, these leonine creatures acquire various types of colours, shapes and designs to reflect their relevance to the island folks.

The moon rose above me as I walked on the old street of Houpu, my grandma’s birth place.

May the full moon bless all sentient beings with the luminosity to adapt to changes, especially during dark times.

And may we share the spirit of the Kinmen folks, who over time, turn attempts to manage hardship into works of art, as the multitude of wind lion designs have shown. 😊

Wishing all my friends the Lion’s Laughter.

Summer Magic on Kinmen Island

15 June 2019

Today I met my Role Model.

I first saw her picture on Facebook while reading up to prepare for my trip to Kinmen Island, the birthplace of my grandma.

“I hope to have the chance to age like this Elder (长者),” was the first thought that came to mind when I lay eyes on her pictures. After that I saved the shots for future inspiration and that was it.

I would learn later that this Elder (长者) I connected visually with had allowed young people to host a music festival in the courtyard of her house in 2017.

Local Methodology’s Wang Ling was one of the organisers behind the music festival in Zhusan Village in 2017

This afternoon while heading back to our car after visiting the ancient houses of 珠山 (Zhushan Village) I was attracted to voices coming from a house on my right.

An elderly woman and two men were seated on low stools at the doorway & chatting leisurely.

Meeting Granny Weng 翁 was unexpected & magical.

I gasped when I realised I was looking at the Elder (长者) from the Facebook photos I had saved! For Real!

I then babbled excitedly to our driver, Yuan, as if I had spotted a Kirin in Kinmen.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Yuan asked, amused by my delirium.

“Yes! She was featured in a music festival in 2017 organised by Wang Ling & friends. She was surrounded by young people in that picture!” I explained earnestly. Nothing is gonna stop me from greeting my Role Model now.

As if the Elder had heard us, she waved and beckoned us to approach her.

She would later tell me that she did that because she wanted us to go inside her house to have some tea and to take a break from the scorching heat outside.

My Role Model: Healthy, Lucid & Gracious.

What followed after I entered the doorway to her 400-year-old house was an afternoon of magical exchanges in a mixture of Mandarin & Minan.

Chatting at the doorway of a 400-year-old house while the breeze of summer blows around must have been one of my grandma’s cherished memories of her Kinmen childhood.

I told my Role Model that I saw her on Facebook even before we met & my aspirations to have her strength & gravitas if I ever have the chance to get to her age.

She laughed heartily and held me firmly by my shoulders.

Yuan explained to my Role Model that before we came to her village, I had visited my grandmother’s ancestral shrine in 半山 (Pan Shan).

At the Weng 翁 ancestral shrine where my grandma’s family name came from.

My Role Model smiled benevolently and said in the Kinmen dialect, “I was born in Pan Shan. My surname is Weng (翁), just like your grandmother’s.”

I couldn’t have asked for a clearer sign of ancestral affection and divine guidance on this Kinmen trip that I made on my grandma’s behalf.

A Red Lantern Welcome

14 June 201

Yesterday towards evening we decided to head to Mofan Street which was part of the old city, Houpu, where my grandmother was born.

We were given free bread and free ride on our way to the old capital.

On our way there, a man stopped to give us freshly baked bread for free and a lady who overheard our destination discussion offered us a ride to Mofan Street.

Red Lantern bearing the chinese characters 后浦 Houpu, the old capital of my grandma’s childhood.

The moment we arrived at Mofan Street a red lantern with the chinese characters 后浦 (Houpu) caught my eye!

I felt very warm inside as my travel mate took pictures of me standing under the red lantern. So this is really my grandma’s town.

A few steps ahead, a lady offered us some freshly made egg rolls to try. We ate them and thanked her for her generosity.

翁阿宝 (Weng Ah Bao) gave us egg rolls to try. She shares the same surname as my grandma.

I asked for her name.

“叫我阿宝就可以了” she said. (Transl: Just called me Ah Bao) “Bao” usually means treasure or precious.

I asked for her surname.

“我姓翁,” she replied and went on to describe the strokes that made up the character 翁 (pronounced as weng in Mandarin).

It turned out that she had the same surname as my grandma.

It was then I felt my grandma’s long overdue homecoming has really happened.

“阿嬷我们真的到家了,” I said in my heart to the little girl who left this old city nearly a 100 years ago.

(Transl: Grandma, we’re really home)

Passport to Freedom

4 June 2019 (Last day of Ramadan)

My day began with catching a ride from a friend to the ICA Building on Lavender Street to collect my mom’s new passport. He had a class on in town and wanted to spare me the cab fare. Grace!

At the ICA counter, the officer attending to me wore a dark blazer and spotted a pair of gold rimmed spectacles. Her surname was “Angullia” as shown on the name plate sitting solidly on her desk.

I told her this was my very first encounter with an actual person bearing her surname. I wondered if she was one of the descendants of the builders of the Angullia Mosque in Little India (opp Mustaffa Centre)

The Angullia Mosque in Little India, Singapore. Courtesy of Holidify

“Yes, that’s our family mosque,” she beamed as she answered. Her ancestors were Gujarati merchants who built the mosque. I could feel her pride and happiness about her Angullia ancestry.

After she cleared the administrative protocol she handed me my mom’s new passport.

“What happened to your leg?” Mdm Angullia asked quietly. There was a look of genuine concern and interest on her solemn face.

I explained to her how I had contracted childhood polio despite having access to vaccines. But I was quick to add that I bore no resentment for what happened. Polio had already crippled one of my legs, and the last thing I needed was for it to cripple my soul as well.

On my way home on the MRT I recalled how my childhood disease had divided my family and put my mother & late grandmother on a constant blame battle & guilt trip.

When misfortune strikes, feeling bad or sorry, attributing blame and to some extent, seeking compensation or apology can trap us in a state of eternal victimhood. It is as if an invisible cord ties us to the cause of our suffering, and in my case, the disease that has brought much grief.

So while the adults were still fretting over how to disguise my limp (as if it could be done), or to protect me from comments, I actually had to face the world all on my own, on one leg. Alone.

In retrospect, this isolation has given me lots of practice to be unafraid if I don’t fit in.

But precious time had been wasted on pitying me. Precious tears were shed for not looking normal. And precious efforts were squandered on overcompensating for my disability as I lived in fear of not being good enough.

Thus forgiveness, for whatever wrong or tragedy one has endured, even without the promise of an apology or hope of justice, is really the passport to freedom.

Cat siblings, Bella & Topaz lost their mother when they were still nursing, saw their brother, Amber, and a fellow community cat, Silver maul to death by dogs. Who could they have sought justice from, having no speech and being just animals?

Ramadan Magic at Haji Lane

31 May 2019

Yesterday a student and I sat briefly on the curb of Haji Lane for a different perspective of the wall murals & the sky surrounding us.

At ground level, we also spotted a handsome cat seeking shade in the shadow of the column supporting the shop houses.

The feline’s portly appearance and sturdy collar showed that he or she had a protector among the shopkeepers.

And yes, as I strolled down the lane, I spotted the unmistakable cat feeding bowl and water dish right by the entrance of a yoga shop.

Someone from within called out, and the cat promptly got up and strutted right in.

By then the humidity was getting to me. I paused outside a shop promoting street & retro fashion. The Malay lady shopkeeper saw me at the entrance & urged me to step right in to escape the midday heat.

We chatted a bit and I was surprised to see that further inside the shop, there was an array of Chinese tea for sampling at $2 per cup. Wati explained that it was to help customers have a taste before deciding if they wanted to buy more.

The owner of the business for whom she worked was an avid promoter of tea and coffee culture.And even though she didn’t know a lot about Chinese tea history and cultivation, helping her boss had prompted her to buy tea gifts for her children’s tuition teachers.

“My boss is a tea expert. He’ll come to the shop early today so that I can go home to break fast. Why don’t you come back & meet him? He knows a lot about tea. He can tell you everything!” She said with absolute certainty.

I was also very impressed that given the small space, she had made every effort to arrange the tea bags and tea related products to achieve the highest level of aesthetic appeal possible.

Towards evening Krison and I dropped by at the shop. Wati was getting ready to go home. She was thrilled to see us and quickly introduced us to Tea Boss. She was beginning to wonder if I would turn up at all!

And was I glad I did! What followed after Wati’s intro was an almost 2 hours of tea drinking and appreciation lesson. Tea Boss didn’t seem to care if we would buy any of his teas, but he cared that we could differentiate & enjoy the various types of tea from different regions he was brewing for us.

Before he seeped the tea, he invited us to inhale the tea leaves and to describe the scents to him. He smiled encouragingly at our attempts to articulate our olfactory experiences and tapped the table approvingly when our responses matched his.

I felt as if we were taking a test but there was no pressure to be right or embarrassment of being wrong.

I think between Tea Boss and us, we must have sipped 54 tiny cups of tea brewed from at least 6 different types of leaves. They bore exotic names from hills and mountains which I didn’t even know existed.

Time slowed down. We were recharged not just by tea, but by the passion of a man who shared freely with us details of his travels to tea plantations and the knowledge that old tea folks taught him.

And the causes behind this magical encounter among 3 Chinese people? The sleepy orange cat and the dedicated Malay lady shopkeeper of Haji Lane in the month of Ramadan.

Path Seekers

26 May 2019

Last week at the National Museum we met a bunch of cosplay enthusiasts. I asked the girl in costume if I could hold her trident. Without skipping a beat her photographer interjected, “Don’t! You’ll be disappointed.” 😆

The girl then went on to show us gamely that her trident which looked so solid and metallic was in reality made of a plastic mop handle and bits of plastic that had been painstakingly painted.

We all had a good laugh after that revelation and a sense of kinship was formed on the spot.

The spontaneity and liveliness of these people in the creative fields was so refreshing that I wanted to hug each of them.

Their passion to share their work & interests had me remembering a former student in my English class.

This student of mine was lanky and fair. Her cropped hair was jet black and her eyes were deep and dark, very much like a Manga character in that sense. She also spoke with a lisp, which she tried to hide by either speaking quickly or not at all.

Manga Girl was also a very good writer and often augmented her written work with amazing sketches of fantasy creatures that she imagined or copied from the manga comics she followed.

Her parents headed important agencies under which medical workers, researchers and scientists worked.

They worried constantly for their dreamy child whom they felt were the least promising of their brood.

At each parent-teacher meeting my observations on Manga Girl’s superb language mastery, rich imagination and sketching skills were diplomatically ignored. Instead, increasingly elaborate study plans & remediation follow up to help her focus on her science subjects were created.

After a while I learnt to keep quiet about my student’s natural gifts to avoid getting her into further trouble with her parents and teachers for dwelling too much on English and all that airy fairy stuff.

But no matter how hard or how long Manga Girl studied, her science grades remained disappointingly low.

Around that time she also seemed progressively more withdrawn.

One day I tried to comfort her by saying that her parents had meant well and their expectations were within their life experiences. I also asked her to keep writing & sketching because they gave her so much joy.

Manga Girl appreciated my mediative attempts. She assured me that she knew her parents loved her but also quietly added, “When my parents refuse to recognise my real abilities, it’s as if I don’t exist.”

At this point I had no platitudes left to make her feel better but just encouraged her to consider compiling all her creative pieces she did in class and in private into a portfolio of some sort, just in case.

For what purpose I didn’t dare tell her yet for fear of boosting her hope only to be disappointed. I knew that if they wanted, her parents had the means to get Manga Girl onto the path which THEY felt was good for her.

The following year she moved onto another class. We spoke now & then, mostly to show me things she wrote or drew.

When it was time to choose post secondary pathways, I suggested that she looked up polytechnic courses that offered animation studies or other creative but no less demanding options such as media studies etc.

She did and was shortlisted for an interview for animation studies.

She was smiling and rambling on as she shared the news with me in the school assembly square.

“What did your mom say?” I asked cautiously.

“She said she’ll take leave from work and drive me to the interview,” Manga Girl replied brightly, as joy overflowed and neutralised whatever awkwardness her lisp was causing her.

Finally the parents were able to see the path that their daughter was seeking and supporting her. Manga Girl had come into existence at last!

The Rabbit Rescuer

18 May 2019

9 years ago a boy came to ask if he could borrow a cat carrier from me.

He had found an abandoned rabbit outside our school. It was weekend & he had just checked out of hostel, carrying some of his personal items.

The journey from school to his home was a long one and he wanted to ensure the rabbit’s safety by putting him in a carrier.

As I was preparing the cat carrier for the rabbit, he explained to his mom on the phone why he was taking the rabbit home.

Over the weekend, news of the rabbit rescue spread among the students. It turned out that the discarded pet had been huddling among vegetation outside the school for a couple of days.

In class I spoke of the boy who had stopped for a rabbit. A student swiftly remarked, “Of course he can help. He’s rich.”

Yes, the Rabbit Rescuer did come from a well-to-do family. And maybe he hadn’t always been nice to his peers. But the reflex response that he was able to help because of his wealthy family got me thinking.

Did coming from a better financial background obligate the boy to rescue the rabbit?

And if so, was his rescue effort any less commendable because it was easy for him?

Those were some of the questions I asked.

Although Rabbit Rescuer was materially well off, choosing to be kind still required a certain amount of inconvenience & sacrifices.

I highlighted to the class that because the foundling was a living being, there were lots of follow up work to do.

First he had to walk back to school with the rabbit without any guarantee of whether a cat carrier was available.

Then when he got home, he had to confine the rabbit in his bathroom for observation before integrating the new comer to the rest of the household.

There were also the vet checks and rabbit food, beddings, cage etc to deal with.

I’ve not met many teenage boys who would go that length for a rabbit, regardless of family background.

After that episode, I became more conscious of whether I have in my thoughts or remarks also undermined the good deeds of those whom I perceived to have more advantages than the rest of us.

When someone quits her job to be a stay-at-home mom, do I say, “Of course she can. Her husband’s rich.”?

When a young person decides to pursue a lesser known path, do I say, “Of course he can. His parents can afford it.”?

When a primary school kid gets full marks in a test, do I say, “Of course she can. She has tuition.”?

And perhaps my compulsion to find reasons when something positive happens stems more from envy & cynicism, than from a genuine desire to learn or compliment.

Rabbit Rescuer taught me that when good happens, just rejoice. Don’t spoil it by asking why.

Fixing My Mouth to Fix My Life

12 May 2019

I love my dentist.

He’s about my age or maybe younger or older. We don’t interact long enough to know personal details.

He’ll explain what’s going on with my fillings, my wisdom teeth and gum health for someone of my vintage. He has no fancy products to recommend me but just good old cleaning and scaling, to be followed by diligent brushing and flossing at home.

He likes to tell every thing as it is. And before any panic sets in, he’ll say, “This is age. There’s nothing much you can do about it.”

“It’s happening to me too,” he’ll add with a beam, as if he’s just shared the secret to longevity with me.

However, if a patient insists on further treatment he’ll comply, but not before reminding her that all corrective improvements done at this point of our lives should have a larger purpose beyond the aesthetic.

Besides, there’s also our genetic predispositions to contend with. What works for others may not necessarily work for us.

The constant public exhortations on active aging with accompanying graphics of elderly folks attempting dramatic feats while inspiring, may also convey the idea that we have complete control over how we age. On top of that, the reality of degenerative issues brought on by aging are quickly glossed over with yet more promises of cures with anti-aging supplements, foods and lifestyle choices.

Everyone has a different path. Advice needs to be dispensed and taken responsibly.

I used to be easily intimidated by pharmacy ladies charging at me with offers of cream to remove my pigmentation spots. Against their uniformed complexion I became self conscious of my rather uneven facial colouring. I felt like a peasant woman surrounded by noble ladies even though I knew at the end of the work day most of us would be returning home to our HDB flats.

But when I realised that those spots on my face are indicators of my advancing years, exposure to the elements and health history, I started to see myself more clearly and more kindly. I became more interested in how hard my liver must be working instead of how flawless my skin should look.

So these days I wear my aging face like a badge of courage and smile appreciatively at the pharmacy staff ambushing in the aisles with their pots of promises.

In tracking my dental health, my dentist has shown me that being pain free and enjoying food is as important as looking good. And aging with all its ensuing uncertainties is actually very natural. What becomes unnatural is when we believe that we can remain youthful if we eat or apply the right things, hang out with the right folks and keep up with technology and other trends.

While we’re quick to praise the elderly for knowing how to scan & pay, we don’t give old folks enough credit for the wisdom & resourcefulness they may have accumulated from years of having survived sweeping changes to support our present success.

So next time when I meet an older person, I would try to ask what he or she knows & thinks, instead of what he or she can do.