December

It was the wettest December I had ever experienced. The torrential rains had ruined my holiday plans as floods continued to wreak havoc in several states. I had pleaded with dad to allow me to go to the east coast with my friends but he had been unyielding. Th thought of having to stay indoors for the next two weeks was not only depressing but also unbearable. Television did not excite me anymore. I was fed up of watching the same old movies on the cable television. Even the other channels had nothing exciting to offer. Finally, I decided to go into the attic to retrieve some books which I had not read for a long time.

The attic was surprisingly clean - a sign that mum had finally completed the chore that she had kept putting off. I looked around and noticed a teak chest that I had never seen before. Curiosity got the better of me and I walked towards it. I lifted the lid slowly and was pleasantly surprised to see variety of things in it - all of them reminders of my childhood. I looked nostalgically at the clothes I had worn as a child I had worn as a child and the toys I had played with. "Bobo" the teddy beat, which I had slept with until I was ten, had been dry-cleaned and kept in a box which also contained the first Mother's Day card I had made myself. I was not prepared for what I saw next. Lying at the bottom of the cardboard box was an old black and white photograph of a young woman. I stared at it incredulously. It was as if I was looking at a female version of myself. All sorts of questions and dreadful thoughts flooded my mind. I held the photograph tightly in my hand and dashed out of the attic, only to bump into my mother.

"Mum... who is this?" asked in a quivering voice.

From the look on her face, I knew it was a question she did not want to answer. Quietly, she held my hand and led me towards the study where dad had been working all the morning. She knocked on the door once before opening it. Dad looked up, and his expression of annoyance disappeared when she saw the photograph in my hand.

What I heard that day is something I will never forget for the rest of my life. The woman in the photograph was my mother, my biological mother - Lily Lee.

"Son, Lily loved you very much; just as much as Janet here loves you."

Dad's use of the past tense made me uncomfortable. It took a great deal of effort on his part to narrate the painful past.

My biological mother was six months pregnant when the incident happened. She had been walking towards her office when a motorcyclist came from behind and grabbed her handbag before speeding off. As a result of the sudden assault, she had lost her balance and fallen on the kerb. The head injuries she had sustained had a devastating effect on her health. The only option was to perform surgery, but due to her condition, this option was risky. The doctors had wanted to terminate her pregnancy to save her life but she refused. A month later she fell into a coma. Although the doctors had given up hope, Lily continued to live, though in a comatose state. It was as if she was not giving up on life till her baby was born. When the doctors deemed it safe, they performed an emergency C-section. Lily breathed her last the moment I was born into this world.

Dad sobbed softly as he finished relating the heart-wrenching story. All sorts of emotions consumed me. I was sad, confused and angry. Was I adopted? What about my father? Who was he? Had he abandoned me? After a while, I braved myself and stated what I thought was obvious.

"So, that means you are not my real parents. I am adopted!"

"No, son. You are not adopted. I am your father. Lily was my first wife. She made me promise her that I would marry her younger sister, Janet, so that you would not grow up motherless."

The sense of relief that I felt at that moment was indescribable. I looked at mum and I saw the pain and anguish in her eyes, as though she was anticipating rejection. Quickly, she looked down.

Slowly, I got up from my chair and walked towards her. I went down on my knees and held her hands in mine. Her eyes remained downcast, fearful of rejection.

"Mum, I know I am only seventeen but I am more mature than you think. You might not have given birth to me but you are and will always be my mother." I comforted her as much as I comforted myself.

She looked up slowly, her eyes searching my face for sincerity. Then with tears in her eyes, she hugged me tightly.

Treasured Memories Grow Fonder With Each Passing Year

I am on my usual morning walk in the park and it is drizzling. I like to walk in the rain. It is cooler, the air is fresher and I like the touch of light breeze that usually accompanies the rain. The trees look greener as if the rain has washed off the dust and dirt from their leaves. The park is quieter as there are only a handful of us around. The playground is empty of shrieking children, and groups performing callisthenics like tai chi are also absent.

Pa, I remember the times that I rode with you, sitting on the front of you motorcycle with my hair blowing in the wind as we travelled from town to the army camp and back. I was very young then, maybe five or six years old, but I was not scared, with you sitting behind me and your strong arms around me.

I remember, too, the times we went swimming at Burmese pool. I used to sit with Ma and Ping(my older brother) by the side of the pool to watch your friends and you swim and play. How I wished then I could swim like you.

The lake looks whitish, reflecting the white clouds above and there must be billions of ripples in it. I can see small waves form as the breeze blows across the lake. I can also see the rushes by the side of the lake swaying gently. However, the anglers are missing, deterred by the rain. I remember the time in 1969 when I was leaving for Kualu Lumpur to further my studies. I was surprised to find you waiting at the station to send me off.

Although you had casually asked me the time of departure, I had not expected you to be there because as I was growing up, we had slowly grown apart.

You were always busy working, so we seldom saw each other. I was asleep when you came back from work and you were asleep when I left for school in the morning. Furthermore, you had become like grandpa - a strict, no-nonsense disciplinarian.

The butterflies are missing. These fragile creatures must be shelthering from the rain somewhere. The birds are quiet, too. The drenching they received must have dampened their mood to sing and they must be sitting on the branches of the trees, cold and miserable.

It was in my fourth year at University Malaya that I had to undergo an operation to remove a gluteal abscess followed by a skin graft. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to find you sitting beside my bed! I did not know how long I had slept or how long you had been sitting there. I was just glad that you were there.

My shoes are wet from stepping on too man puddles, I must have been daydreaming. The coloura of the flowers do not seem as bright today and some of them are soggy. The branches of the trees are bowed down, especially the Rain Trees, and the tips of their branches are almost touching the surface of the lake.

It was early 1975 and I had just started to work in Kuala Terengganu when I was informed of your illness. You were stricken with meningitis. I traveled to Kuala Lumpur to visit you at the General Hospital. The doctors said that they had to operate. The chances were 50:50 and that you might not fully recover; you might even be paralysed of worse.

I knew the graveness of the situation and was quietly worried. You looked normal but you could not remember anything we told you and would repeat the same question over and over again. You also kept asking for the time and I knew you were worried that visiting hours would be over and we would leave. I could sense that you were frightened which shocked me as you were a strong man. I hated what the disease had done to you.

I have reached the end of my walk now, gone past the playground again and out onto the sidewalk. I am now passing the big drain that flows beside the park. It is low tide and I can see the sandy bottom of the drain. I t reminds me of a video that i had recently watched. It showed a phone standing on a remote sandy beach. That phone connects to afterlife and you can talk to departed through it. The singer was bidding teary farewell to her late father.

Pa, it has been 34 years now. If I ever come across that phone, I want to tell you that I love you, and that I miss you.