By Nuriesya Bakar

"Is Madam Peh Gok Sun your mother?" the caller asked.

No, I wanted say though I knew the government records would say otherwise.

"Madam Peh was found sleeping on a bench outside Chinatown Plaza with a few other homeless persons. As part of the current COVID-19 measures to facilitate social distancing, she is being housed in a temporary shelter, but we'd encourage her to stay with family members," the caller continued.

The word family grated on my nerves. I wanted nothing to do with that old lady. My childhood memories revolved around coming home to a house that was often devoid of food, and seeing her in the company of various men. There was always a new boyfriend. And when the men left, alcohol accompanied her. She was apparently 18 when she had me, and I was 18 when I left. I was not sure if she deserved the title of 'mother.' Forty years had since passed, and not once did I look back.

"No. Please don't call me again – I have no interest in Madam Peh," I said and ended the call before hearing any response.

"Mia, who was that?" my husband, Seth, asked, noticing the frown on my face. He knew of my history when we married, but I was in no mood today to discuss the call.

"Some social agency for homeless folks," I replied with my best guess. The caller had introduced herself but I didn't register the details. "Probably a wrong number," I lied. He raised his eyebrows but didn't probe any further before leaving the house for work.

A few months passed before I received another call. A different caller. He called to ask for my consent – Madam Peh was showing signs of early dementia – to transfer the old lady from the shelter to a dementia nursing home. I gave no input. "Let her decide, or you guys can decide," I answered. I did not care what the state would choose to do with her. The call lasted for barely a minute.

That night, I told Seth about the calls. He listened but didn't push me to do anything differently.

"Happy Mother's Day!" my daughter Lila screeched as she emerged from the kitchen with a breakfast tray for me. Seth was out buying some drinks for our family breakfast at my favourite Boost fruit juice-smoothie shop.

Lila placed the scrambled eggs and toasted bread on the dining table, and hugged me from behind.

Just then, we heard the front gate unlocking and we both looked up to see Seth walking in with the juices. "Wow, Lila at the stove! And in the morning!" Seth teased our daughter whose idea of breakfast, if she woke up in time, typically involved a simple fuss-free granola bar before she was out the door.

Lila grinned, and replied, "And pancakes are coming up! But I'm making this for Mummy, not for you. It's her day!"

Seth raised his hands in a mock apology but countered with, "It's okay. I bought prata for myself." Lila loved prata, be it plain or egg or egg-onion; she ate prata like it was a snack instead of a meal. I saw Lila's eyes widen.

I laughed. "Stop it, you two! Come sit down and we can all eat together. I'm sure there's enough for everyone," I said. 

After we finished with the food, Seth got up to clear the plates. "It's okay, Baba, I can do the clean up too," Lila offered.

"No, let your Baba do the kitchen clean up. You've already cooked," I insisted, and Seth agreed. I was happy to have some time alone with my daughter; I thanked her for today, and we chit-chatted about her university life.

After brunch, Seth and I lazed on the couches flipping through Netflix for a movie. Lila was at the table behind us with her laptop, and I asked if wanted to choose a movie and join us.

"No, it's okay, Mummy. I need to finish up some of the volunteering scheduling work, so I won't be paying much attention to the movie," Lila remarked.

"Oh, is this for the reading classes for the kids at Jalan Kukoh?" Seth asked. I smiled at my husband, impressed that he remembered. Lila was a first-year Masters student but she also volunteered in so many different activities that I had lost track of what she did. Her schedule was often packed, though she always still made time for us. I loved hearing her volunteering stories during our family catch ups – though I regretfully seldom remembered all the details.

"Ya, Baba, that one," Lila replied.

We were halfway through the old '90s Back to Future III movie – the point where Doc Brown saved the near-death Marty by shooting his hanging rope free – when Lila dropped that loaded question.

"Mummy…who is Peh Gok Sun?" Lila queried.

Seth paused the movie and squeezed my hands. We turned to see my daughter holding my letter from the nursing home. I had received the letter in the mail a few days ago, informing me of the successful transfer, together with brochures about their services. I had been annoyed at the correspondence. I thought I had thrown the letter away but I must have accidentally left it on the table.

"I was clearing the table, making space for my drink when I saw this. Who is she?" Lila continued, raising her eyebrows at our long silence.

I had spoken very little with my daughter about my past and I preferred to keep the unsavoury hidden. But I also didn't want to lie. All she knew was that I never stayed in touch with my family after I had left home at a young age.

"It's not important, honey. You can just put the letter aside and..." Seth started speaking to diffuse the tension. I interjected him, "No, it's okay."

I walked over and sat next to my daughter at the table. And I told her my relation to Pek Gok Sun.

Lila arched her eyebrows when I said I didn't plan on seeing her or visiting the nursing home. She kept insisting we should visit as a family. I kept refusing, my answer growing louder each time. She studied my face, as if she didn't recognise it.

"NO!" I bellowed when she asked yet again. My response startled even myself, and it jolted Seth out of the couch. Lila cowered in her chair and her eyes began glistening with tears

"I'm sorry Lila. I didn't mean to shout. You can visit her if you want, but don't talk to me about it," I said, softening my tone. And I got up and walked away, afraid of blasting at my daughter again.

I stood by the doorway listening in as Seth comforted my daughter.

"Baba, I just can't understand why Mama would be so harsh. It's unlike her," Lila started.

"I know Lila, but your Mama has her reasons. Don't push her. Maybe she just needs more time," Seth explained.

I sobbed, confident that no amount of time would change how I feel, and I hoped my daughter won't see her own mother as a monster.

Lila soon switched her volunteering activities to the nursing home, and became a regular visitor. I learned about it from Seth. I knew it was selfish of me, but I felt grateful that Seth also stayed away from the nursing home.

Since my blow-up, and perhaps on the advice of her father, Lila steered clear of the topic with me. We both pretended that the incident never happened, and our conversations returned to its somewhat usual easy-going flow.

Lila continued to share her volunteering experiences with her father, and sometimes I overheard snippets of their conversations. One such occasion stayed with me, when Lila recounted the volunteer-led karaoke sessions. 

Lila began, "Po Po clapped to the Cantonese old tunes from the YouTube music videos projected on the screen, and sang aloud. She seemed to know the songs by heart. At certain parts of the songs, she would rise up from her chair and dance, waving her hands from side to side. And her movements appeared more hilarious as the other five elderly home residents in the room would remain seated and often looked at her, instead of at the screen. Once, she spoke to me animatedly as if telling me a story about the songs, but of course, I couldn't understand her since it was in Cantonese."

Seth laughed, and remarked, "She sounds like quite a vibrant person."

Lila shook her head while replying, "Only the karaoke sessions would spark such a change within her. She's otherwise fairly quiet and reserved. One of the nurses told me such behaviour was normal, and that the songs were probably linked to happier times and memories in her past."

I never sang with that old lady. I never had fun karaoke sessions with her. Those happier times she remembered were probably spent in karaoke sessions with her many rotating boyfriends. My heart hardened in anger at those thoughts. I wondered if Peh Gok Sun ever felt how I had felt when I became a mother to Lila – that surge of love when cradling a newborn – or if I had been cast aside in the background the moment I was born.

Later that afternoon, I left for the nearby gym hoping my motions on the elliptical would defuse the tension I was feeling. My emotions confused me. I pushed the handles harder and switched the exercise programme to hilly terrain instead of flat. Lila had always wished for a larger extended family with grandparents to celebrate Chinese New Year and Christmas holidays. Since Seth's parents had passed away in a car crash when he was only a teenager and he was an only child, family holidays were often just the three of us. And I enjoyed that small close-knit bond we had. Hearing Lila's heightened tone and excitement with Seth as she described her days with Po Po, I marvelled at how quickly my daughter had grown attached to that old lady. And I had consciously omitted myself from a possible shared experience. My arms ached as I slowed down on the elliptical, and let the speed drop to a warm-down level. As I journeyed home, I wondered if I was creating unintended cracks between me and Lila.

I rummaged through my cupboard for a while before I finally found the hand-sewn cloth pouch buried deep in the recess of one of the drawers. The red pouch was a little dusty but untorn. Pulling open the pouch's drawstrings, I took out the beaded pink hair tie tucked inside. The pouch and the hair tie were the only remnants of my childhood past which I had brought with me. I twirled the alphabet beads around the hair tie a few times; despite the years, the beads turned smoothly without hitting any rough edges around the rubbery hair tie. I used to do this – the twirling of the beads – every now and then, as if reminding myself of what I was running away from, and later – after I had Lila – of the better kind of mother I wanted to become. I had not twirled the beads in a long time. The hair tie was one of two in a pair bought at a night market when I was only about six years old; one for my mother and one for me, with the beads spelling out our names for each other. In my haste, I had taken the wrong hair tie when I had left home years ago; the beads I twirled spelt out "M.A.M.A" – what I used to call her. 

Seth came into the room while I was still sitting on the bed with the pouch and hair tie. He recognised the items I was holding.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, as he sat next to me.

I shrugged. "I'm still so angry at her…at the past," I murmured. "But…Lila seems so happy. I've overheard some of your conversations together," I continued.

Seth nodded. "Well, you know how she always wanted a larger family. Remember when she was in primary school and she pretended our elderly neighbour Auntie Chin was her grandmother…?" he said.

I sighed. "I know, I know," I said. His answer did little to comfort me.

"By the way, Lila did say her health is now deteriorating, with her memory going fast and her muscles weakening. I just… don't want you to have any regrets," Seth faltered.

I inhaled his words with a deep breath. I knew how the sudden accident and the stolen goodbyes had traumatised Seth as a teenager. I understood how he was looking out for me. I leaned in and gave him a kiss. "Thanks, but I am not ready," I replied. "Not yet," I said. I then stuffed the hair tie into the pouch and placed the items back in the drawer.

A few months passed and one day, I saw Lila rummage through our old photo albums. She opened one album, flipped through it before casting it aside, and then repeated the same with the next few albums she picked up.

"Can I help? Which photo album are you looking for?" I offered as I kneeled down beside her next to the cupboard shelf of photo albums. I began browsing through the albums sprawled around her, smiling at the memories of our family photos.

"Oh, hey Mummy! Hmmm… wasn't there one album which had more photos of us when I was a toddler? These ones here are all when I am older," Lila asked.

I pointed to the top shelf which had the larger photo albums. "Why are you looking for that one?" I quizzed.

She hesitated for a moment. "Ummm, Po Po is not very communicative these days, not talking much even to the nurses who speak Cantonese. But she responds to photos I show her. Not sure why but she tends to smile at my toddler photos. So…I thought I'll bring her that album this weekend. Is…is that okay?" Lila asked, before averting her eyes.

Her answer caught me off guard and I stumbled to reply. I suddenly found myself nodding, and forced a smile. "Sure," I spoke and stood up to leave her with the albums.

That night, as I got ready for bed, I sprung a question on Seth, "She's getting much worse now?" Seth stared at me for a while, blinking at my question. "The nursing home…" I prodded.

"Oh, yeah it seems so, from what Lila tells me," Seth replied.

"You can go if you want to. To see her with Lila, I mean," I said.

"It's okay. I'll go with you whenever you're ready," he reassured me.

I nodded and mumbled, "Okay."

"Hmm…Mia," Seth hesitated, peering closely at me, "Were there no happy memories at all?"

I stayed silent, drilling my head trying to recall what I could from the past, and a random memory sneaked in. My face creased into an unexpected smile. "When I was younger… every month we would go to an ice cream shop, and sometimes…my uncle came… I've forgotten about him," I started. "I was probably about six or seven," I continued.

Seth beamed. "Hold on to it, maybe you'll remember more of such moments," he said.

I let the memory play in my head as I lay in bed that night.

The next afternoon, as I awaited the bus, I saw a petite elderly lady coming by. She pushed her four-wheel shopping cart slowly with her frail arms on the empty streets. Plastics bags of different sizes and colours – red, white and blue – filled the cart to its brim. Her hair was unkempt and her faded clothes had some small tears. The cart probably carried her life's possessions. When she passed me at the bus stop, a slight odour wafted through the air. She wore a blue surgical mask, though her nostrils were left exposed. As I stared at her, I wondered if my mother had been in a similar state when she was found sleeping on the benches at Chinatown Plaza. My bus arrived but my eyes stayed affixed on the elderly lady. I remained in my seat at the bus stop as the bus wheeled away. The ringing on my phone rattled me.

"Sorry Mia, I called to cancel our coffee meet up today as I am not feeling well. Hope you haven't left home yet," my friend apologised.

"It's okay. I was about to call you to cancel too. Something came up on my end. Rest well and hope you feel better soon," I said.

I then leapt to my feet and flagged down a taxi. I glanced at my watch and hoped I would still make it for visiting hours.

When the nurse pointed me towards the bed, I saw my daughter by the bedside, with her back towards me. I paused by the doorway observing them just a little distance away. My mother was curled up slightly on the bed, and she appeared small and vulnerable. I couldn't recognise her at all. Lila was holding out that photo album close to my mother's face, flipping through its pages. At one point, my mother paused at a particular page and pointed to a photo. Lila slid the photo out of the album and my mother brought the photo close to her. She gazed at the photo for a long time, and then reached out to touch my daughter's cheeks while nodding and smiling. I then noticed the familiar dangling beads on my mother's wrist and gasped. My daughter heard my gasp and turned around. "Mummy, you're here!" Lila squealed.

I came closer to the bed and touched my mother's hand, rubbing my fingers against her rough creased skin. She looked up at me but showed no sign of recognition. I turned her hand until I could read the alphabet beads – "M.I.A". The pink hair tie dangled loosely on her hand, with its rubbery elasticity likely worn out over the years.  "Oh, she becomes frantic if anyone tries to remove that old hair tie from her hand," I heard Lila explaining.

"That's mine," I whispered as I collapsed in tears while hugging my Mama. 

Old Cantonese pop songs played softly in the background. The songs were inappropriate for a wake, but Lila insisted they were her favourites. I eventually relented, accepting that my daughter probably knew my mother better than I did. I only had a month with Mama before she passed. She was no longer lucid by then, though I spoke to her in Cantonese every time I visited. I told her how I was angry with her, and how I wished she had been a better mother. But that I also forgave her. I had no idea what she understood; I could hardly hear her words when she did speak. Nonetheless, I felt lighter as time went by.

We received a variety of visitors at the wake, mainly our friends and family. Lila had also posted a notice about her passing in the local paper for anyone in the community to attend. And so, while I had expected a quiet affair, we received a fair number of people. I scanned the hall and noticed that most of the guests had left.

I then noticed the elderly man sitting at the corner table at the end of the hall. He was dressed more formally than most of our other guests; he wore a well-pressed, long-sleeved shirt and dress pants. I couldn't imagine him knowing my mother. Maybe he was one of Lila's university Professors, but I was sure I had seen him earlier and that he had been there since the start of the day. Just then, the elderly man stood up and walked towards me. A young man, around Lila's age, accompanied him.

When the elderly man reached my table where I was seated, I noticed his wet cheeks and red eyes. He introduced the young man next to him as his grandson. Seth, who was standing behind me, voiced the words in my head, "And you are?"

The elderly man sat next to me and took out a black-and-white photograph. The photo was wrapped in transparent plastic in careful preservation. I stared at the photo. It was one of the few happy memories I had with my mother. I closed my eyes while holding the photo close to my chest.

I was about eight years old. My mother was wearing a simple, knee-length, no-frills dress. She was holding my hand while I was licking the ice cream held in my other hand. And my uncle stood next to me, his mouth half opened in the photo. I remembered him shouting at his photographer friend to not take the photo.

I opened my eyes and looked at the elderly man again. I could not recognise him. I asked if he could show me his palms. He smiled and understood. And I saw it – that familiar cloud-like shaped black birthmark at the centre of his left palm.

Tears flowed as I hugged him.

"Your Mama and I used to dance to these Cantonese pop songs when we were kids. I broke down when I heard them; my grandson had to prop me up," Uncle Bo shared. My tears flowed even harder.

"I'm sorry for disappearing," he said. I didn't understand his apology, but it didn't matter now. My Uncle Bo had found me.

I met up with Uncle Bo the very next morning at my house. He had insisted on a time to meet, and didn't want to go into details during the wake, when I asked how he had lost touch with Mama.

Uncle Bo sipped the cup of tea I prepared for him. Both Seth and Lila were out for breakfast, choosing to leave a private space for myself and Uncle Bo.

After some initial chit chat, Uncle Bo began, "When Singapore gained independence and separated from Malaysia in 1965, my Pa, your Mama's father, chose to return to his hometown in Malacca at Malaysia overnight. And my Ma and I could no longer sneak out to visit Gok Sun and you. Both of you remained in Singapore."

His explanation puzzled me. "You mean Mama didn't want to bring me and follow all of you to Malaysia? And what sneaking out?" I asked.

Uncle Bo paused for a while. "Mia, your mother was kicked out of the family after she became pregnant with you. She… had been raped but my Pa didn't care. Pa forbade us from seeing Gok Sun, but initially, Ma and I always found a way to sneak out whenever Pa went to work. Ma got your Mama a place to stay, and had friends who helped her when you were born. And we came by as often as we could to see you both. But when we left for Malacca suddenly overnight, our hands became tied. My Pa was somewhat of a tyrant and we feared him. He beat my Ma. I was in my late teens then, about to turn 20, and I was too scared to go against him," Uncle Bo said.

My stomach tightened at his words – at a past I never knew. My heart ached to learn what my mother went through to have me, and then to raise me.

"I'm sorry, I should have been a stronger brother to your Mama. I'm in Singapore now living with my son. I wished we could have all met sooner. And not through the obituary…" Uncle Bo continued, his words trailing off.

"Did… Mama know you were leaving for Malaysia? That we'll be alone," I stammered.

Uncle Bo dropped his head and shook it slowly. "No, everything happened so quickly. Please forgive me," Uncle Bo pleaded, with his head still bent down. 

I recognised the guilt he carried. He left Mama. I left Mama.

I looked at Uncle Bo and slowly lifted his chin up. His red teary eyes peered at me.

"It's okay, Uncle Bo. I'm glad you've found me, and for our families to meet," I said, and we both enveloped each other.

_____