I suppose that's an american thing.
My grandma doesn't bake cookies. She makes a great cup of tea though.
Buying tea leaves straight from the wet-market auntie, just like how they did in the old days.
Every Chinese New Year gathering, there's a litre of milk tea waiting in a large enamel mug.
Nainai's the only one who can make tea this good, the kids exclaim smacking their lips
pouring themselves and their parents second and third cups.
Drink more, she smiles, and pour another for your parents.
A couple of hours ago, her arms trembled violently as she tried to pour boiling water from the kettle into the mug. But she did it.
She lives on the third floor in a private flat in Novena; has lived there for over 50 years.
There are no elevators installed, so grandma climbs up and down 3 flights each time she leaves the house.
Nainai's a power woman, the kids praise repeatedly
whenever they escort her to and from family events.
I must, she pants, or else I will never be able to walk again.
A couple of years ago, she started having to pull herself upstairs. Both hands grasping the banister, she hoists herself up the steep mosaic steps, using the power of her arms instead of her legs. Her big and second toe have twisted together, and together with arthritis, made walking difficult. But she is still doing it.
We try to have lunch every Saturday. Grandma calls on friday, then half hour before lunch again to make sure that it wouldn't be trouble for us to meet up, and then, we wait for each other at the underground food paradise in the toa payoh bus interchange. sometimes other members of the family turn up - almost always gugu, sometimes the cousins, though third uncle brings her out to eat again sunday afternoons. We'd have the mostly the same conversations - about the never-ending queue at the rojak store, about the people she meets on her daily walks who speak to her, although sometimes we talk news.
My grandchildren, grandma'd shout amicably, address the party sitting adjacent after catching their eye,
And my daughter who's just gone to get tea.
Oh, your grandchildren? You're lucky, the other party'd exclaim, and grandma would smile.
Given the demographic of toa payoh, they were more often than not fellow old folks.
Sometimes grandma bitches about mum. I guess that's a universal side effect of having a son - no girl is good enough for her child nor will ever be, even if he's almost 60. A subtle snub, not snide but not unnoticeable.
I dont hold grudges, so your mum has it very easy and has a good life, she grumbles as though she was not talking to her daughter-in-law's daughter.
She never had to wait on me like I had to wait on your yeye's mother.
Then in the next second, she shoves $5 at me while I am halfway through my food.
Go get lunch for your mother.
I love looking into her eyes - because of cataracts, her irises have turned an iridescent blue like you'd find in some caucasians... or like the main character in Stephanie Meyer's The Host. It's easy to imagine that through the shrunken exterior of her body, her soul is shining out through her sky blue irises for all to see - vibrant, alert, alive.
*wanted to try my hand at descriptive writing again but guess i failed. vocab has gone back to the dogs.
