He would be 80 if he were still here.

Five days ago, his 2nd sister-in-law passed away at the age of 87. During the funeral, I learned from my cousin Ronnie that his father, my dad’s 3rd brother, had been 58 when he passed away in 1979.

The day after 2nd aunt passed away, I found myself thinking it’s just 4th uncle and Sai Goo (dad’s youngest sister) left of their generation. Then I remembered 2nd uncle is still here. Mother, too. 4th aunt as well. And Sai Goo Jeong (Sai Goo‘s husband). Also 3rd aunt. Oops x 5. I’m losing my mind.

On the 2nd evening of 2nd aunt’s wake, sitting at the same table with some cousins, I brought out my Palm TX and showed off the old family photos in it. I’ve done this before, but this time, the old photos brought up the old family movies shot on Super8. My sister and I asked about them and learned they’re with 4th uncle’s family. Now there’s a possible family project to convert the Super8 reels to DVD.

I have a keen interest in preserving our family’s history. Although I was only 3 when my grandfather passed away in 1961, I’d heard enough stories about him to know he was a special man. One, in particular, was told by a man who knew grandfather and had been the recipient of his generosity.

I learned from Sai Goo that grandfather had been 75 when he passed away in 1961. This meant he was born in 1886. The story I remember being told about him as a successful businessman who decided to come to Malaya (as Malaysia was known then) to open a Chinese medical hall was recently revised after a chat with my Sai Goo. Grandfather had actually come to Singapore to work in a Chinese medical hall and later came north to Kuala Lumpur to work in the KL branch of that medical hall. Years later, around the time my father was born, grandfather came out on his own to open a shop that sold a variety of goods but eventually only Chinese herbs (the business he knew best).

I also always thought Grandfather’s older children were born in China, but I was wrong. When grandfather came to Singapore, he left grandmother behind in the family village, and only sent for her later. All their children were born in Malaya, although there is a gap of a dozen years between the eldest, my 2nd uncle, born in 1919, and the youngest, my Sai Goo, born in 1931.

In his time, the family’s Chinese herb business grew and a second shop was opened. My grandfather became quite a prominent figure around town. Although no streets were named after him, at the time of his death, he was sent off with a grand funeral procession that took up all the trishaws in town (to carry the funeral tapestries given by business associates) and went from the shop in Chow Kit, through the major roads, all the way to the Kwong Tong Cemetery near Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka.

He was sent off in a grand hearse, and just before the final journey started, the entire family gathered in front of the hearse for a last photograph with him.

There are holes in my knowledge of the family history. In particular, I need to find out more about my Dai Goo (father’s eldest sister) who passed away when I was studying overseas, and also Dai Goo Jeong, her husband. As a kid, I used to visit their family, and also Sai Goo’s family a lot; I visited both together as they were living near each other in Sentul, which was then known as “Cowboy Town”.

As with most family histories, there are also dark spots that nobody really talk about. During 2nd aunt’s funeral, Ronnie had referred to 2nd uncle as Dai Bak (eldest uncle). We actually have a Dai Bak, who was adopted into the family as a boy but, because he was adopted, was not close to the family and instead committed an unfilial act that caused grandfather to put an advertisement in the Chinese newspapers to disown him. According to Ronnie, at grandfather’s funeral, Dai Bak’s eldest son had attended but the rest of the family refused to let him put on the mourning clothes. That was how serious the rest of the family viewed the unfilial act. But many years later, when Dai Bak passed away in Singapore, 2nd uncle and his eldest daughter, 3rd aunt (Ronnie’s mother), my dad, my sister and my brother attended his funeral. And when his wife passed away, my brother attended her funeral on behalf of everyone else. Sometimes, despite family quarrels and even the most unfilial act, family is still family, especially with the passage of time.

Related Posts:
Grandpa Chin
Grandfather’s Generous Spirit
The family’s Singapore connection

It was such a rare occurrence that when we arrived at our 3rd aunt’s house (the first relative we visited), the old lady exclaimed “Which wind blew you here – north, south, east or west?”

Yes, “we” visited because I went along, partly as navigator and partly for company (I’d already visited on the first day with my brother). This really shows how long since Jen last visited our various uncles and aunts – she’s mostly forgotten the way, and this was not helped by the fact that the roads have changed and also the familiar scenery along them.

We visited three houses that day – 3rd aunt’s, 2nd uncle’s, and Sai Goo‘s (she is father’s youngest sister; sai means “little” or “youngest”, while goo is the word for aunt on father’s side).

Jen managed to meet up with two cousins of her age that day. This was a treat because the rest of the year, everyone would be too busy to keep in touch, except over the phone. Meeting up with cousin Kat, Sai Goo‘s eldest daughter, was probably the highlight as she and her family live in Brunei so the chances of meeting up at other times were really rare. This was why we waited for her after Jen spoke with her on the phone while at her mother’s house.

As kids, the older cousins used to hang out with one another a lot. Maybe because they hadn’t met for so long, but cousin Kat started asking my sister “do you remember?” questions when they sat down to chat after she eventually returned from lunch (as it turned out, with another cousin and her family).

“Do you remember grandfather’s big black car?” she asked my sister. “The driver would fetch me in the evenings to the main shop and we would all go to play at the roundabout.”

My sister said yes, but after comparing descriptions, it turned out she was remembering the wrong car.

“Do you remember cousin Jimmy used to stage talentime shows on Grandma’s 4-poster bed? He was our ringleader!”

My ears perked up. Grandma’s 4-poster bed? Talentime shows? My mind pictured all these little kids running on top of its mattress and pretending to sing.

Grandma’s 4-poster bed had a special place in my childhood. It was the bed that I shared with my nanny when I was under her care.

The bed was big. How big? I remember nights when I couldn’t sleep and I would get up, tie the corners of my little blanket into a “bag” (the way I’d seen it done in Chinese sword-fighting movies) and walk on the bed, pretending I was travelling, going from one village to another (the way the heroes in those Chinese sword-fighting movies used to do).

The bed was high, too. How high? Nanny used to store boxes of stuff beneath it, and I had my little secret place there, hiding my little notebooks (paper) in a box way inside the underside of the bed. It was especially cooling for naps on hot afternoons.

I remember being told Grandma had given the bed to Nanny when Nanny came to work for us. For a long time, I thought they were friends. It was only recently that I realised it couldn’t have been. Grandma had died when father was just 8 years old, and Nanny had come to work for us soon after Jen was born, when father was around 22. Grandma and Nanny couldn’t have been friends. A piece of family history has now been rewritten – well, not rewritten, but set in its proper time frame.

My guess is that Grandma’s 4-poster bed remained after she passed away. None of father’s siblings took it because its size made it difficult to dismantle and move (it was also heavy, made of brass.) Some of them were living away from the shop. The more modern ones preferred, well, more modern furniture. So, when Nanny came to work for us, and our family was living under the same roof as the bed, she was given the bed to share with the baby (my sister), and later with my brother, and then with me.

When we moved out of the shop in the early 90s, it was to a house with rooms that would not fit the bed. I asked around and a friend from my schooldays asked if she could have it. She had seen the bed before when she used to visit and always thought it would be a neat bed to own. She didn’t mind the trouble of dismantling the bed and moving it. She later told me her niece and nephews really enjoyed sleeping on the bed – they had never seen or slept in such a big bed before!

It’s years since I’ve asked about the bed, and I hope it’s still providing rest for someone somewhere. Not sure about talentime shows, tho.

It was a little different during my first Saturday visit of the new year with her. I’d arrived a little late. She had already had tea and was sitting in a wheelchair in the living room, with my sister on the sofa next to her. The sliding door was wide open, and I stood there for a short while, looking at her. My sister was looking at her, too, for some reaction.

Mother was looking in my direction. She looked like she saw me. She looked like she recognised me because, as she sat looking at me, she kept looking at me, and a big smile came on her face.

Wow, what a wonderful new year present from mother! Even my sister was happily surprised.

But my brother is not the only one in the family with a Singapore connection.

A few years before he went there to work, my sister graduated from the Nanyang University (now Nanyang Technological University) in Singapore. I always felt very grateful to the university for its pre-U course. My sister had studied in a Chinese school, was (and still is) not very fluent in English, so her university opportunities were very limited, and Nanyang U was the only Chinese university in Singapore then. My sister also did not have very good exam results, but sufficient for Nanyang U to accept into its pre-U course. This practically “saved” my sister because she worked hard, very hard, that year and got into 1st year U and went on to graduate. In contrast, one of her classmates, who had been accepted straight into the 1st year, didn’t, and flunked out of university at the end of her 1st year. My sister also met her husband while at Nanyang U.

But my brother and sister are not the only ones in the family with a Singapore connection.

At the end of World War II, my mother set sail from Sandakan, Sabah, to Singapore to search for an uncle. She had buried both her parents during the war, and although reunited with her birth mother after the war, realised that there wasn’t much left in that town for her. She knew of an uncle who was in Singapore and decided to go and look for him there. By the time she arrived in Singapore, he was no longer there, having set sail for another port (he was a sailor). Fortunately, she met a group of women who would become life-long friends. From them, she learned of Kuala Lumpur and decided to take the train up to check out the town. After arriving, she stayed on, found a place to live, worked at a variety of jobs before landing a permanent one at a local publishing house, and met and married my father.

For a long time, I thought our family’s Singapore connection began with mother. And then, I learned about an earlier connection from almost the beginning of the 20th century.

I was talking with my father’s youngest sister about Grandma Chin, when my aunt said:

“At the time, they were living in Ampang.”

“Ampang? Weren’t they living at the shop in Batu Road?”

“No, at the time, your grandfather was working at a Chinese medical hall in Ampang.”

Okay, back up a bit.

I always thought my grandfather was already a successful businessman who came to Malaya to open a Chinese medicine shop. That’s what I was told. Apparently not.

What happened was Grandfather Chin had come to Kuala Lumpur to work at that Chinese medical hall in Ampang after he’d worked in the Singapore branch for a while.

The family’s Singapore connection had begun with Grandfather Chin.

Grandfather Chin had come from China to Singapore where he found work in a Chinese medical hall, and after working there for a while, he moved to Kuala Lumpur where he worked in the KL branch. After he was more settled, he sent for Grandmother Chin from China to join him in KL.

I always thought my dad’s older sister and 3 brothers were born in China. No. All of Grandfather Chin’s children – four sons and two daughters – were all born in Malaya.

As mother’s condition deteriorates, she’s often restless, moving her hands to scratch her back or arms, and not keeping still for us to feed her. To help keep her hands still, the carers have given her a small soft toy to hold in one hand and sometimes, a towel to hold in the other. To keep her still during feeding, I have learned that it helps if we engage her in the feeding in some way. How?

It’s especially difficult when we try to feed her liquids, either by putting the mug to her lips or with a spoon. I’ve found that if I tell her to hold the mug and then put her left hand on the mug, for some reason, she can sense that it’s a drinking vessel in her hand, and she would tighten her hand on the mug (instead of just resting the hand on it). When I tell her to drink, I can feel her “helping” to move the mug to her mouth. At the same time, I can see her lips parting in anticipation of the drink coming towards her. When we get her involved this way, the liquid doesn’t spill at all.

When it comes to her bowl of food, I’ve told her to “help” me hold it, then put her left thumb on the rim of the bowl and the rest of her hand around the base. While this keeps her hands still, it doesn’t always get her to open her mouth for the food. More and more, she’ll keep the last mouthful without chewing or swallowing, which could sometimes take a long while! We have learned to watch her and try to get her to talk, because when she does, her mouth will start to chew and swallow. Her feedings are taking longer and longer; often, she’d be the first to start and the last to finish.

This refusal to chew and swallow got so bad recently (we had to use a large syringe pump to feed her) that I went to see her geriatrician , Dr R, about it. He looked at her 2 medications and said she didn’t have to take one of them anymore. Risperdal had been prescribed for her when her condition was first diagnosed, to calm her and minimise her restlessness. Now that she’s confined to a wheelchair, Risperdal was no longer necessary. Or so we thought.

True enough, her chewing and swallowing improved after she was taken off Risperdal. But her restlessness also increased and she was scratching more, and quite violently, too, often leaving streaks of red on her skin. So I called Dr R to suggest we put her back on the dose, but every other evening, instead of the previous daily evening. He agreed, and it worked. Now, mother chews and swallows better, and scratches less, too.

This past weekend, we learned that she’d been coughing. The cough medicine made her drowsy and on Saturday, she slept through tea and was very sluggish over dinner. The next evening, in the car on my way to see her, I found myself wondering if we were going to lose mother soon. But I was in for a surprise when I saw her. I’d greeted her and told her it was dinner, did she want it. She grunted her usual “yes”. And during dinner, she kept her hand on the bowl when I put it there, and finished her food in almost record time. Before I left, I bent close to tell her I was leaving and would come and see her again next week; she rewarded me with another of her “yes” grunts. I was so happy, I tweeted about it on my way home (during a stop at a red light, I hasten to add). This was what I tweeted:

Had a good visit with mum. She was alert. I live 4 days like this.

I was also so pleased with how she held the bowl, I took a picture.

Mother and I – we’ve come to a point in our lives where our roles are now reversed, and I behave like a proud parent everytime she does something encouraging.