In his lifetime he took on all sorts of work to make ends meet. He welded, sold coconut juice, ran stalls , picked fruits, and traded in discarded items. No job was too lowly for the man on his trusty Vespa.
Being of limited education he had to endure all kinds of job instability. Not wanting to cause alarm or appear incapable, he kept his hardship to himself.
My Dad in his youth wearing a borrowed uniform. When he was still a baby, his Dad passed away. Perhaps donning a uniform was my Dad’s subconscious aspiration for some kind of security in his growing up years.
There was even once he spent days on the beach during working hours so that we wouldn’t know he had lost his job.
Growing up, my dad’s explosive rage & harsh words hurt me. Yet he was also the one who modelled sustained silent reading, and piqued my interest in national geographic, movies, art, music & non-chinese foods.
This man who chain smoked to the detriment of his own lungs also picked herbs and killed & cooked wildgame to feed me in hope of restoring my leg.
One day I gathered the courage to tell him I didn’t mind limping so he didn’t have to kill anything anymore. That was the end of my dad’s dabbling with innocent lives to mend mine.
My dad would have been 87 years old today. And as I age, I draw strength from his willingness to accept all things, so that nothing can cause us to lose our footing. 🪷🙏
My Dad always smiles for the camera. In all my dreams my Dad is always smiling. I hope wherever he is, he lacks nothing.
How could you miss a place you hadn’t visited? I could. Through my grandmother.
My cat, Oliver, on map of Kinmen Island.
My grandmother was born in city of Houpu on Kinmen Island in 1914. It was 3 years after the fall of the Ching Dynasty and the start of World War 1.
When she was 7 years old, turbulent times forced her to leave Kinmen for Singapore. She never set foot on her birth place nor saw her parents ever again.
This yearning for Kinmen would manifest in the constant repetition of her family name, her language group, her city of birth, and in her cooking & aesthetics.
In 2019, when I arrived in Kinmen for the first time and saw her family name written in gold characters, I felt a surge of awe! So this is the character that my grandma was so concerned about throughout her whole life!
An ancestral shrine bearing the family name of my grandmother.
She taught me how her family name, 翁 “ongg” should be pronounced using the first tone in Kinmen language. It was not to be mistaken for 王 “ong” which was using the second tone.
My grandmother was the only person I know who had nostalgic feelings for words.
When I walked the lanes of her birth place, I felt a sense of homecoming & reunion on her behalf. The red lanterns hanging about bearing the city’s name “后浦” may appear ordinary to the locals & tourists. But for me who had heard my grandmother speak it for years, I finally understood 后浦 is real, and not a figment of an old woman’s imagination.
Houpu, my grandmother’s beloved city of birth. My grandma could have passed by & even touched this ancient tree in her birth city.
Outside a temple where an ancient banyan tree of more than a 100 years old stood, I touched its trunk reverently. My grandmother could have touched the same tree too.
Apart from words, my grandmother also kept Kinmen alive through her cooking. Her spring rolls, longevity noodles面线, glutinous rice油饭, leek 大蒜& yam dishes were quintessentially Kinmenese.
Strands of noodles swaying in the Kinmen breeze & sun taught me why my grandmother was ever so joyful when she cooked bowls of “mee sua” for us. The ever delicate longevity noodles was probably one of her few tangible links to memories of her Kinmen home.
My grandma always cooked “Mee Sua” or longevity noodles with joy.
In the news the narratives surrounding Kinmen Island tend to focus on geopolitical issues & what Kinmen can offer in terms of enjoyment & entertainment. But for folks like me, this little island has done more than its share of giving, sheltering & loving. It now deserves to be revered, cherished & protected.
I’m honoured to have visited this magical island that my grandmother pined for till her demise. I wish Kinmen everlasting peace & prosperity for the benefit of everyone, regardless of their beliefs.
The Chiku Tree is all decked up with red banner & pineapple hangings on Chinese New Year of the Snake. (29-1-25)
The wind rose and sent the tree branches dancing as I approached the temple on the morning of Chinese New Year.
I stood on the steps to savour the rustling of leaves & greeted the Chiku Tree. Planted by my dad when we were kids, this tree being has been tended to by kinsmen, kinswomen & friends with rudimentary plant knowledge.
Over the years my brother has picked up our dad’s interest in cultivating Desert Roses. When a plant needs healing, he hangs it on the Chiku Tree to let it rest.
Each season the Chiku Tree brings forth sweet & succulent fruits that feed birds and are given freely to whoever asks.
I arrived just in time to see my Mom picking up a Pineapple decoration which the Wind had sent her from the Chiku Tree. Pineapples are symbols of abundance among ethnic Chinese.
Quietly, she bears witness to all temple festivities, performances & feasts. Banquet cooks & street opera singers catch their breaths under her loving auspices. Our late temple cats filed their nails on her trunks.
With each passing year, my admiration for the Chiku Tree grows. She brings sweetness, provides refuge & inspires trust with minimum fuss.
How auspicious it will be, if we could age The Way of the Chiku Tree! 😄🙏
With my Mom under the Chiku Tree on the first day of Chinese New Year.
Presenting Christmas log cake to Asher, the shelter cat at Metta Cats & Dogs Sanctuary. (22-12-24)
About 20 Christmas Eves ago, I passed by 4 dogs sheltering under a vacated apartment block. There had been an on off drizzle much like today.
Grateful that I didn’t hesitate to help animals & share my interest with students when I was able to move without a walking aid. (Nanyang Girls’ High School, 2004)
I went home, put down my stuff & went out again to the supermarket to get dog food and aluminium trays in preparation to feed them.
My old flat at Blk 3 Teban Gardens Road (1999-2012)
By the time I got to the abandoned block, I couldn’t find the dogs.
A sense of disappointment mixed with deepening unease crept up on me as I surveyed the deserted neighbourhood in the failing light.
At that moment of uncertainty, a voice called out to me,”Miss Ong, what are you doing here?”
I turned around. Two boys had seemed to materialise from nowhere. They introduced themselves as students from one of the schools I had worked in.
The boys who helped me complete my dog feeding mission told me they came from St Joseph’s Institution.
When I told them about my failed feeding attempt, they took over the trays of dog food and completed my mission.
8 years after that Christmas Eve encounter, I would be relocated to a new flat that sits on the land where I fed the homeless dogs.
View from my current flat. (Sunrise on 10-12-24)
And each Christmas Eve especially on a cool evening like this, I will hear the Angels loud & clear: “Miss Ong, what are you doing here?” 🙏
Since that Christmas Eve encounter, and aided by friends, my animal helping work has extended beyond Singapore. (Rocky & Lakshmi, Nepal 2024) “Miss Ong, what are you doing here?” Asked the Angels loud & clear. (Boudha Stupa 2024)
This morning before it got too hot, we headed to the Jurong Lake to practise walking in my new boots.
To motivate me, my friend brought coffee and yutiao (fried dough fritters) from Bt Panjang market.
The sturdy boardwalk supported our feet as we strolled. Below us the green water stretched on endlessly. Above us, white wispy clouds spread across the blue sky like tracks left behind by wind horses.
We glanced guiltily at joggers passing by before taking a bite of the deep fried delight of our childhood. 😄
As we savoured our simple breakfast, we were treated to a display of aerial prowess by the brief appearance of, I believed to be either a white bellied sea eagle or a brahminy kite.
The wingspan was spectacular to behold, and as if telling me, “Be not dismayed you earth bound creature of flawed feet. Your wings are in your mind.”
Here’s wishing all a calming close to October and light footed grace to November. 🙏
Eat My Heart Out! My friend said next visit we’ll bring table mats and have a banquet of ordibary food.
Between the ages of 7 & 15, a big portion of my dad’s pay went to getting my surgical shoes & aluminium calipers.
I contracted childhood poliomyelitis when I was 10 months old. It left me with a permanent limp on my left leg.
Money was tight, but not once did he complain about how I was depleting resources.
When it was time to be in school & mix with clean limbed kids, my dad reminded me that because I walked differently from them, I would never be able to match their speed. Therefore I had to accept my slowness & not compare myself with others.
My Primary One class photo under the Acacia Tree where I spent many happy hours watching my friends play.
He was a pragmatic parent who knew kids at that age crave to belong. Recess time games could be cruel on a child with limited mobility.
When I got older, he also specified that I had to earn my keep by developing real skills & not expect others to foot my bills. I guess it was his clumsy way of telling me not to expect a man to take care of me.
I took my dad’s advice seriously and studied to become a teacher of English.
Although I didn’t like what my dad said at that time, his words have kept me from a lifetime of feeling sorry for myself.
Customised shoes & insoles to ease the strain of imbalance gait.
Although I couldn’t run around like my friends, I became a keen observor of body language by watching their playground antics, triumphs & defeats.
Although I can’t keep pace with many activities these days, there is no panic.
My dad might have known early on that regardless of what he could give me, I still had to face the world by myself & walk my own path.
So he taught me acceptance, which is the beginning to tenderness & freedom from attributing blame or seeking compensation.
In my world, there can never be too much sweetness or too many flowers.
I share two traits with Mexican painter, Frida Kahlo. We both contracted childhood polio and we both hated our affected legs. Frida covered her right leg by wearing long skirts, while I cover my left leg by wearing flowers.
Frida painted flowers so that they would not die. I wear flowers because they help me face life.
Whether to live just for a day or a week, Flowers remind me to bloom my best. Whether admired or mocked, Flowers say we gotta look fabulous!
Although her paintings were not exhibited, her energies were carried in the richness of her colours.
At the lotus shaped Art Science Museum, my 2 companions in their Sweet Seventies put me on a wheel chair and rolled me around to see Frida’s life. 😄🙏
My Sweet Seniors who may have seen it all, but everything is new to them.
May the thought of this senior Frida Wannabe and her friends chortling away while awashed in every Frida colour imaginable, bring a smile to bloom like a flower on you.
Around my 60th birthday I dreamt of my dad. In the dream he was working in a garden when I approached him. I showed him a dog I was cradling in my arms. He smiled approvingly.
Dad and me in my 30s at Westlake Restaurant in Farrer Rd.
In my childhood my dad taught me to pick up chicks, ducklings and rabbits gently so as not to hurt them. My maternal grandfather taught me to hold my fountain pen steadily & with just enough pressure when I’m writing to protect the nib.
With Shoya in early 2000s at our old home.
As I get older, these childhood experiences guide me to handle what I love, be it an object or a living being, with a light touch, so that I don’t spoil them & they don’t possess me.
In the dream it started to drizzle and the sky was darkening. I got into my dad’s truck so he could send me home. The dog in my arm started to whimper when the truck rumbled.
We decided it was best that I walked. As I started walking, dogs from all corners starting appearing & wagging their tails at me.
I turned around excitedly to look back at my dad to check if he had seen them too.
He nodded to show he did. Then he waved me onwards like he used to whenever I visited & it was time to leave. Only this time he wasn’t waving me towards the elevator, but onto a brightly lighted gravel path.
Oliver welcoming my first Himalayan singing bowl on 8 Dec 2018.
When the cats were here, I began my day with changing their water bowls & replenishing their kibbles. It was usually followed by incense & butter lamp lighting. In their final months, their medical needs directed my mantra recitations.
Each morning my cats, Oliver & Emmanuel led me towards the altar where Compassion represented by Avalokithesvara & Wisdom represented by Ganesha sit.
I’m still processing their absence. And now in their memory, I begin my day by paying attention to my heart & breath.
My Heart & My Breath. (24 October 2022)
When I started doing that, gifts that promoted physical, emotional & spiritual well being from female elders started coming my way. They were a yoga chair to strengthen my standing, a hand carried meditation cushion bought 10 years ago in Rishikesh, India to facilitate my sitting and a newly printed book from its UK author to aid my spiritual evolution.
Gifts of yoga chair & meditation cushion from Wise Women.
A few days before yesterday’s full moon, a younger friend gave me a book on words that console, and another on embracing impermanence.
On Vesak Day morning, as I listened to a mantra on compassion I received a call which allowed me to share my understanding of wounds, medicine, & mending.
Much like the teenage footballers whom I used to mentor who always entered the soccer field with their right foot, I’m a believer in starting the day right.
Yesterday I was beyond grateful to begin a high holiday by offering words of assurance and healing, just like how I used to offer sustenance & hugs to my cats & dog. ♥️😊
Starting right includes choosing to be kind instead of right.
Drawing of Ganesh adorns the box of handmade sweets I received in 2016.
“Madame, please buy it. It’s very nice!” gushed the indian shop assistant. His lady boss at their grocery shop looked on sternly.
The mass produced laddoo being promoted was sealed in plastic wrapping. I could see it had been tossed about quite a bit. I wasn’t even sure if it was still edible, much less tasty.
A laddoo is a bright saffron colored spherical sweet made from flour, sugar, ghee & dry fruits. It is presented as snacks and offerings for celebratory & hindu religious purposes.
Taking Indian sweets with unsweetened massal tea makes me feel like a rani.
Having been exposed to freshly made indian sweets since I was a kid, and as an adult, tasted delightful morsels sold by weight, I’m somewhat of a sweet snob.
Years of savouring sweets sold by weight have made me into a sweet snob.
But what if the shop assistant needed me to buy THAT laddoo in order to show his boss that he was a good employee?
When I agreed to add that tired & slightly toxic looking golf ball sized sweet onto my grocery purchase, the shop assistant beamed in delight while his boss’ face opened like a flower in wonderment.
“You mean you would buy this laddoo from him just because he asked you to?” She clarified, amazed.
“Of course! He’s so enthusiastic about the laddoo. No harm giving it a chance,” I chortled.
Back home as I placed the shabby *prasad at *Ganesha’s feet, I apologised for the way it looked, & promised I would get him nicer ones next time.
Rose quartz Ganaesha in my home.
The next day I had no heart to toss out the laddoo. It was food after all, even if it didn’t meet my standard.
So I took a little bite. And it was the tastiest laddoo I’ve ever eaten! As expected, I single-handedly polished off the whole prasad in one sitting. 😄
On this eve of celebrating compassion & wisdom, may our heart & mind stay open to little acts that can sweeten our life and the lives of others in unexpected ways. 🙏
*prasad – offerings in sanskrit language *Ganesha – elephant headed hindu diety associated with wisdom & possibilities.
My interest in sweets causes me to leave sweets for the housekeepers who take care of the rooms I stay when I travel.
Lisa Ong 