Friday, August 13, 2004

Listening to : I've never to been to me by Charlene(one my favourite songs since young)
I received an email from Philip, my ex-colleague from CPF, regarding this essay written by Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen, from Raffles Girls' School, who won the top prize in the Commonwealth Essay Competition that drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries. Her short story focuses on the conflict in values between an old woman and her independent-minded daughter. Its amazing work really..

What the modern woman wants

THE old woman sat in the back seat of the magenta convertible as it
careened down the highway, clutching tightly the plastic bag on her lap,
afraid it might be kidnapped by the wind.

She was not used to such speed. With trembling hands she pulled the seat
belt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with
her
calloused fingers. Her daughter had warned her not to dirty it:
'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'


Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver
mobile
phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance',
'liquidation', 'assets', 'investments'. Her voice was crisp and
important
and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those
foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The
old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.


'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed
agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured
fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.


'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone
shut
and hurled it angrily towards the back seat. The mobile phone hit the
old
woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly
picked it up and handed it to her daughter.


'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretense and switching to
Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of
problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and
important.


Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view mirror, wondering what
she
was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same
cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful
digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.


'Hello Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.'


Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered
her
daughter telling her how an English name was very important for
'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten.


'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the Ancient
Relic
to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'


Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to
her.
Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not
comprehend. 'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!'


The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic
bag
in defence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked
almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The
old
woman got out of the back seat and made her unhurried way to the main
hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos
and
reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.


'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she
said,
not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.


The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick. She
knelt
down solemnly and whispered her now-familiar daily prayer to the gods.


'Thank you, God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these
years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a
young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with
a
swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook.
Her
love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh
(dialect for Caucasian man).


'Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what
she
says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except
happiness.


'I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots
while reaping the harvest of success.


'What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me
a
room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only
because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be
hindered
by her old mother. It is my fault.'


The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.


Finally, with her head bowed in reverence, she planted the half-burnt
joss
stick into an urn of smouldering ashes. She bowed once more.


The old woman had been praying for her daughter for 32 years. When her
abdomen was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that
it
was a son.


Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and
adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably a girl.


Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who
could not work or carry the family name.


Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to
her
waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have
everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her
daughter would never have to depend on a man.


She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman
that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan;
the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded
respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak,
precious
pearls would fall out and men would listen.


She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter
grow
up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood.
She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly
defied her, calling her laotu (old-fashioned in Chinese). She wanted her
mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.


Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why
she
had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent
prayer,
but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the
girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the
soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.


Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so
ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, wealth, access to the best
fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness.


The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When
her
daughter leaves the earth, everything she has will count for nothing.
People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but
she
would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt
paper
convertibles and mansions.


The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and
prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: that her daughter
be
happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking
on
the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry.


Being at the top is not good, the woman thought. There is only one way
to
go from there - down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag
and
spread out a packet of beehoon (rice vermicelli) in front of the altar.


Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain gods. How could
she
pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her
aid?
But her daughter had her own gods too - idols of wealth, success and
power
that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day
was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for
nothing
in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life
out
of her, and leave her an empty soulless shell at the altar.


The old lady watched her joss stick. The dull heat had left a teetering
grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern women nowadays,
the
old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time
to
end her ritual. Modern women nowadays want so much that they lose their
souls and wonder why they cannot find it.


Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her
daughter
outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on
her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing
through
the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds
of
happiness.


They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove
along
the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.


'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I
have
been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The
property market is good now, and we managed to find a buyer willing to
pay
seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse
apartment
instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our
apartment, we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to
ourselves...'


The old woman nodded knowingly.


Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the
housework
and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to
look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and besides that, the
apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for
a
long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a
home.
There's one near Hougang, it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'


The old woman did not raise an eyebrow.


'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful
with
gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time
for
you, you'd be happier there. You'd be happier there, really.' Her
daughter
repeated as if to affirm herself.


This time, the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling
tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would
protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep
into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers traced
the white seat.


'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view mirror for her mother.
'Is everything okay?'


What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than
she intended. 'If it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.


'It's for you Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow.
I
already got the maid to pack your things,' Elaine said triumphantly,
mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.


'I knew everything would be fine.'


Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her
mother
would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only
hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now.


She had everything a modern woman ever wanted: money, status, career,
love,
power and now, freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to
weigh her down - yes, she was free.


Her phone buzzed urgently; she picked it up and read the message, still
beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10-per-cent increase!' Yes, things were
definitely beginning to look up for her...



And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her
handphone screen, the old woman in the back seat became invisible, and
she
did not see the tears.

When I read this, I realise how much a modern day woman has changed from the past. As feminist people move for independence for women with big careers, who do not need to depend on guys to survive. Sometimes, time just pass us by so fast that the things that are truly dear to us are lost and forgotten. Sometimes, its good to stop and smell the roses. Remember those dear to us, people who have helped us in the harder times, not people who stick by us because of our successes. Because once these successes are gone, so will these people and once again its those who helped during the hard times who will turn up and help. Treasure what you have and the times you have with those you treasure.






Jessica WhIsPeReD OuT @ 12:13 pm


-ThE EnD-