Each year on the 9th Day of the Chinese New Year, old folks turn up at the temple to observe the birthday of the Heavenly Deity.
They come from the neighbouring housing estates. Like members of a spent army which has braved too many wars, these silver haired devotees trudge on unsteadily and sometimes painfully, to celebrate and to give thanks.
Their uncompromising grit inspires younger devotees to rush to their aid. Someone offers to steady a tottering grandpa, and another helps a granny too shrunken to reach the urn to place her incense sticks.
This pair of Father and Son has been celebrating the Heavenly Deity’s birthday yearly. This year, the son has become a first time dad, making his own father a grandpa!
We are familiar with the adage that children are our future. However, it has to be the enduring presence of older folks who have lived through life’s every imaginable challenge and still remain thankful, that gives the younger generation guts to flourish in the future.
I welcomed 1 Feb 2021 by bringing home a pot of Desert Rose. This is one of my late father’s favourite plants. He was hugely successful in growing them. Till this day, the balcony of my mom’s little flat is a hanging garden of “Flowers of Abundance,” (Fu Gui Hua 富贵花）as the Desert Rose is known in chinese.
I was born in the Year of the Water Rabbit. This year my lunar birthday fell on 22nd Jan 2021.
My paternal Kinmen grandmother was 50 years old when I was born. I was her first grandchild. As a mother who had lost two daughters even before they turned 5 years old, my arrival must have felt as if one of her little girls was being returned to her.
Thus I was raised with much care, and given every chance to wear whatever beautiful clothes available to children of my neighbourhood.
On the same day as I gave thanks for my birth, I was happy to see a Facebook feed from Kinmen Blog explaining the origin of my grandmother’s surname, 翁 (pronounced as “weng.”)
One of my dominant childhood memories was of her pointing out the chinese character of her surname on her citizenship document, and getting me to pronounce it accurately. That could have been the first chinese word I laid eyes on.
Full Moon rising on the old city of Houpu, Kinmen Island, Taiwan.
I made my first trip to my grandmother’s birthplace on her behalf in 2019 and walked the streets she might have played on in her childhood.
At the doorway of an ancestral shrine belonging to the descendants who share the same family name as my grandmother.
As I stood under the golden brush strokes bearing my grandmother’s family name above the entrance of one of the many ancestral shrines that dotted the island, I felt energised.
Perhaps there’s a reason for my deep affinity with black ink strokes against vermillion & scarlet, and gold characters against black. What may appear tacky to some feels like home to me.
I think when ancestor veneration is forbidden or discouraged in the name of progress, religion or politics, we lose our connection to the wisdom and protection of our forebears.
And for me this loss can never be compensated by promises of power or paradise.
Gold letterings say “Happy Birthday” in mandarin on my 57th Birthday yesterday. (24 Jan 2021). Ollie is not impressed.
Yesterday and today, I felt all the love and birthday wishes from near and far. There were texts, fb messages and even a voice mail from the desert.
This time last year I celebrated my birthday with caution. We were facing a world wide health threat and closer to home in Singapore, a family was grieving over the loss of their son in the military.
Birthday in my 20s with my first batch of students. We were staying in a bungalow in a remote part of Changi so I don’t know how the cake got there.
Sagging body parts and pigmentation spots or not, aging allows us to reflect on our thoughts and actions, to give thanks for mercies shown and to atone for offenses made.
Surprise Birthday in my 30s. A lovely child brought a cake to school and kept it in the refrigerator of the school canteen operator till we could eat it during recess.
Through their words and deeds, students, friends and family have indulged in my many whims and flaws, and point me the way to generosity & forgiveness.
So here’s wishing them back all the good that they’ve been to me, while I shall try not to disappoint, but do my very best to grow into a gracious old lady.
Hard boiled eggs dyed red given by my 77 year old mother to celebrate my 57th birthday this time.
May All meet Wisdom and Compassion in all stages of Life, so that every encounter may become a doorway to Grace.
40th Birthday celebration with Peaches, symbol of longevity and aspirations for divinity.
The mandala seal on the box holding a bottle of perfume.
Away from classroom teaching and having my commitment to impart knowledge reduced to just twice a week at a tuition centre, I find myself growing quieter over the months.
Unless it’s life threatening, I’m learning to resist the compulsion to explain, to justify or to convince. After all, when it comes to issues that truly matter, words are just not enough.
That said, I did wonder if aging has made me anti-social, indifferent or worse still, turned me into a subaltern?
Apart from the increased silence, I’ve also started wearing the pearl trinkets I bought during my 30s. I had forgotten how pearls brighten up against black.
With Marcus’ orange cat, Sage, on this winter solstice. (22/12/2020)
And each time someone smiles or says something nice at the sight of pearls around my neck, I’m reminded to heed the “Pearls of Wisdom.”
While growing silent and wearing faux pearls I also revisit my cache of oils, incense and perfumes.
Since my last trip to Nepal in 2019, I’ve been lighting palo santo wood to give thanks to the sun and to dedicate light to the living and the dead each morning.
Memories of my grandma dabbing scented oils on us surface regularly.
A few days ago I was rubbing Moroccan argan oil mixed with lavender & patchouli on a coconut shell necklace.
“It would be good to be a quiet old lady who also smells nice,” a voice in my head went.
Two days ago a former student and his wife took me out to lunch.
At Jinjio with Jonathan & Jeneen, on the eve of the final full moon of December 2020. (28/12/2020)
It was our first meet up in 2020. Unsure of how gathering rules might change in the coming new year, , they also took the opportunity to mark my birthday in 2021 in advance.
At that lunch I received a book gift from the husband, and a perfume gift from the wife.
The book was a copy of “Quiet” by Susan Cain.
Receiving “Quiet,” from my former student felt like I was given the permission to be quiet without the fear of withdrawing from life, or becoming forgotten.
From his wife, I received perfume from Korea that came in a bottle most exquisitely crafted.
As soon as Jeneen showed me the gift she got me, Goddess Tara came to mind.
Its hues, gold and crystal details immediately reminded me of Goddess Tara as envisioned by the artist who drew it for Street Dog Care in Nepal a few years back.
And I felt so honoured that the giver thought of me the moment she saw the lovely bottle that held the peony fragrance.
Peony Perfume and Goddess Tara.
And thus my aspiration to grow into a quiet old lady who speaks words of wisdom when necessary while smelling good was facilitated at the lunch hosted by a young couple on 28th December, the eve of the full moon.
May we trust that our aspirations to be the best that we can be as age catches up will be graciously provided for through those who are born after us.
Incense offering to the Sunrise at Nagarkot (Dec 2017)
I took 2 hardboiled eggs from the breakfast buffet and slipped them into the pocket of my winter top.
We were travelling down the hills of Nargakot to stay one night at the Airport Hotel in Kathmandu. It was 2017 and Nepal’s election year. All roads would be close to vehicles on the day we were flying back to Singapore.
I kept the eggs in case I came across a hungry dog or cat, or even a child. It can be traumatic for some of us to meet a hungry animal and have nothing to give. But instead of feeling sorry and helpless, I decided to fortify myself with food. Eggs in their shells proved to be most hygienic and practical in a situation like this.
Down the valley, the hotel check-in went smoothly. Then I rested while my travel mates headed out to Patan for some last minute exploration.
We would meet for dinner.
Dinner was still some time away when I woke up from my nap in the Nepalese winter.
The eggs I brought with me in the morning had become my sustenance till dinner time.
As I sat by the window gazing out at Tribhuvan Airport in the setting sun, it became clear to me that “what we do unto others, we do unto ourselves.”
Thus have I experienced that the giver is also the receiver.
Our mom turned 77 last week. I organised a dinner at a restaurant that served dishes of our dialect group.
She and I were the first to make it to the restaurant. While tea was being served, my mom asked if my brothers were coming. I told her yes and referred her to the dishes on the menu to pick her favourites.
Both my brothers were coming from work. Evening traffic could be an issue. When my mom asked me again to check if my brothers were on their way, I decided not to get annoyed with her or give her a chance to rant about them.
Instead I calmly asked her why she was so fixated on the ones who hadn’t arrived, when the one who remembered her birthday, booked the dinner, and got everyone to turn up for it was sitting right in front of her.
I’ve learnt not to take on the emotions of others, even if they’re valid or belong to my mother.
My brothers are now in their 40s and 50s. This is a childhood picture I cherish.
About 15 minutes later, my brothers appeared. I was very happy to see them. Our sibling bond has somehow survived years of negative narratives started by parental worries and disappointments, and perpetuated by constant retelling at the slightest provocation.
My mom performing a ritual bath on Ganesha, the Giver of Wisdom and the Breaker of Obstacles. We take on the attributes of whom we serve and pay attention to.
But that evening at our mother’s birthday celebration we were happily sharing a meal and chatting about more important, but non- emotional topics such as keeping our jobs and our masks on. Of course we also traded in superficial knowledge of more profound topics such as statesmanship and power play.
My mother looked very pleased with the red packets we gave her to wish her good health. She ate heartily all the dishes that would take her too much effort & time to cook at home.
Perhaps all gatherings are invitations to rewrite our scripts, and free us from the habitual hold of stunted stories that keep us from moving on and growing up.
Even as the passing years deplete us of our physical faculties, the power to select which narratives we wish to perpetuate can never be lost.
Will our stories be full of how others have wronged us and how we’ve also let others down? Or will our stories also celebrate every attempt to do our best in spite of everything?
Here’s wishing all good health, sound mind and generous heart to keep improving on our life’s script and live in joy regardless of the situation.
I used to carry pretty handbags. Now I carry dogs and cats, and some kibbles.
These days with the knowledge that anyone can carry virus, we’re also obliged to carry hand sanitizers and face masks whether we like to or not.
In fashion magazines there’s a frequent quote that goes, “Women can never have enough handbags, or shoes,” to justify constant buying and spending.
At 47 in the Winter of 2011 in Kathmandu.
But perhaps this insatiable appetite for bags and shoes is a hidden quest to find out what we really want to carry, and where we would like to be headed during this lifetime.
I recall Ms Jane Goodall having only a small trolley bag and a backpack to hold everything she needs on her cross continental lecture trips to speak for primates. And yet at every event, she manages to look so polished and new. 😊
The Most Important Bag for me now carries relief supplies for street and community animals.
Bit by bit when I learn to carry what really matters, the old baggage of self doubt and “what would people think of me,” steadily dissolves.
I still like beautiful things, as people born under the zodiac sign of the Hare are known for. My heart still burst with affection at the primary school girls holding their glittery magic pony bags.
But the compulsion to own pretty things is losing its grip on me as my understanding of what I’m meant to carry in this lifetime gains clarity.
“Remember, no matter what you see, the whole thing is just up to my knee!” the kindly museum guide assured me. I was trembling a bit in my walk on the glass surface of installation art piece by Mark Justiniani.
“Stardust: Soaring Through the Sky’s Embrace,” takes the form of a bridge lined with mirrors, creating the illusion of endless depth.
Half way through the short bridge, I felt a bit sick as I peered down at the abysmal blackness beneath my feet.
But the museum guide’s voice brought me back to the reality that the nauseating depth I was fixating on was in fact only knee deep!
How often have I allowed my flawed vision to dictate what I should think or feel? How do I differentiate reality from the utterances & projections of the ego?
When I finally cleared the “depth” open-eyed without falling down, I felt immensely grateful to the museum staff, my friends for walking beside me and my cane.
And one of the verses in Psalm 23 which I learnt in my teens came to me: “…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.“
May we be guided by Benevolence as we scale the steps of Life.
My father in the batik shirt I bought and his grandsons.
Yesterday was the full moon. Some families that observe the lunar calendar, also made and ate dumplings to mark the passing of the first half of the year.
The final birthday red packet I gave him in 2009.
Yesterday was also the birthday of my late father. The man who taught me to sing to the moon would have been 82 years old this year.
In the morning I made a donation to abandoned and homeless animals in my father’s name. I hope my being able to do something for the needy would comfort the man who was always worried that his daughter would be at a disadvantage because of her limp.
In the afternoon I went to place a fern at my father’s niche in the columbarium.
In the evening I received a pendant of dancing Ganesha from one of my brothers. He had bought and kept it for two years. It was made in 2014. A couple of days back he decided I should have it.
Ganesha in dancing pose has been on my mind for some time, but I don’t recall telling anyone about this particular liking of mine. The details on this pendant carving from the floral patterns on Ganesha’s forehead & trunk, to the intricacies on his pants “sparked joy.” 😄
Seeing Ganesha so poised, despite balancing on one foot, fills me with grace & courage.
And all these coming together on full moon and on my late father’s birthday assure me that every thing that we do with love continues.
Their uncompromising grit inspires younger devotees to rush to their aid. Someone offers to steady a tottering grandpa, and another helps a granny too shrunken to reach the urn to place her incense sticks.
Our mom turned 77 last week. I organised a dinner at a restaurant that served dishes of our dialect group.
Lisa Ong 