Third Time’s a Charm

It’s 2011 and I’m back for my third trip; this time without my father. This time with a computer small enough to carry around instead of journal after journal I never got around to typing up.

My Uncle Siew Seng and Aunty Leag Ann picked us up in the middle of the night and we arrived at their house by 2 am. I expected to crawl into a sleeping house, but everyone, Kian Ming, Teng Teng (pronounced Ting), Kian Loong, even Grandma was up and about. I could not believe how big my cousins had gotten, which I told them until Kelly corrected me, how “grown” they are. It’s true now that the oldest is in college and the youngest, high school. They were far from our first meeting in 2005, when, thinking they did not know much English, I had let my youngest cousin, Kion Loong listen to Eminem on repeat.

Kelly and I are sharing the room that I had last time in 2007. It’s a strange feeling to return to the same place, but not feel like the same person. In the morning I lost some face having to admit that I couldn’t remember how to use the shower. I got as far as turning the switch outside of the bathroom, pressing the fat button on the bottom of the machine, but fell short of turning a metal lever off to left to release the water.

In the morning my Grandma, as usual, made a big fuss over us. She brought us chicken and bread and curry puffs. We sat eating our fill and drinking milo (hot-chocolate-like drink) and chatting with Teng. After breakfast, Kelly went out to draw and my cousin translated for my grandma and me. Grandma said that she wanted to talk to me but didn’t know how. Luckily, Teng Teng translated for us.

I finally found out that she has never been to China and was born right in Penang. After a while she brought me some pictures, laying them one by one on the table in front of me. The first was a picture of my Ayee, her sister who had recently passed away, in a wheel chair. I remembered that when I met her last time, I was astonished at how she’d made my grandmother, who has lived a long life under the Malaysian sun, look so youthful and healthy. The next photo was a close up of her face hooked up to machines, presumably on the white background of a hospital bed. The third was taken from nearly the same angle, but clearly of her dead, lying on perhaps a table.

How does one respond to one’s grandmother when shown this, without, of course, the magic of language? I did my best nod and sympathetic mouth-twist, saying that I’d heard she had passed away. I asked (through Teng) if she had been to a service, and told that my uncle hadn’t told anyone until a month after she passed away, so it had been too late. I suppose, maybe, that these pictures were a compensation for the late announcement?

It was 3 hours into my 3rd visit to Penang, and I knew I had to be ready for anything. But nothing could have prepared me for my Uncle Siew Kai.