Just to hear her voice
One morning somewhere in the middle of my trip last month, I felt the need to hear my sister’s voice and to know, from hearing her voice, that she was alright. Things were too quiet, with no news from home. I know - I was on holiday and they wouldn’t bother me if things were alright, but with my family, it didn’t work that way all the time, but more on this later.
So I called my sister but I couldn’t very well tell her I just wanted to hear her voice, so when the call went through and I found myself hearing her say “hello?” over the phone, I asked “Hi, so you’re going to visit mother this coming Saturday?” No “hello, how are you?” but something more direct, more practical, more acceptable to ask.
I used to get that way about needing to hear mother’s voice to make sure she was alright when I was at university in Norwich. I felt maybe the family was keeping something from me, so I would call just to hear mother’s voice and be reassured that she was alright.
This need to hear mother’s voice (and recently, to hear my sister’s voice) has a history dating back to Chinese New Year 1987.
Every CNY Eve, my brother would travel back from Singapore to spend CNY with us. The first morning of CNY that year (my first away from home), I’d called home and after wishing my mother Happy Chinese New Year, asked to speak with my brother. She said he had gone out with some friends. I did find that a little strange - that, plus the fact that the call was answered by my sister who was usually back at her in-laws’ place during CNY - but did not really think too much of it.
A few days later, I received mum’s weekly letter and in it, learned that actually my brother had had an accident while travelling back from Singapore, had broken his leg and was in hospital at the time I called. Mum said she didn’t tell me at the time because she didn’t want me to worry. Like as if I would worry any less hearing about it later. But that was so like my family, and especially my mother - to want me not to worry.
Of course, hearing someone’s voice doesn’t necessarily mean the rest of the family is okay, but in both cases, I got to hear the voice of the person I was most worried about.
In any case, what I went through with not being told about my brother’s accident certainly can’t ever compare with what a university friend, AC from Singapore, experienced. He went home one summer to learn that his father had passed away a few months previously and no one in the family called to let him know at the time it happened.
By the way, my niece, who left us on 31 March, would’ve turned 21 today. 21 is the legal “coming of age” in Malaysia, so not turning 21 for her means she’ll always be a little girl in our hearts. Not that she would ever be anything else to her parents.
