Stories from Grandma

I was at my Grandparent's house (on my Mom's side). I was on the garden swing, staring out into the pretty, neat, impeccably maintained green sanctuary that was my Grand-mother's domain. I was listening to my MP3 when she came out of the house (she had been resting inside before). I greeted her. We talked for a little, while, and she went on to her gardening. i followed her, just for the fun of spending time with an ancient

She and I had finished pulling small weeds off a particular spot of green grass, when we both settled down on the swing again. It was her idea, actually. "So peaceful," she remarked. I nodded my head.

Then I remembered something I had always wanted to ask her. "Poh-Poh?" I asked, "Could you -tell me about how it was like when you were young?" It was a bit awkward at first. I've always loved old stories and tales from my elders. It's always felt like a retelling of family history and secrets, a memory of days gone by.

She paused for a moment, then nodded. She started. She talked about her house in Seremban, how her loving Grandfather had bought that house. She talked about her family, how her mother had so lovingly cared for her and siblings, about the times she worked in Robinson's, and her brothers' trip to China to remeet older relatives. There was so much emotion in her words, a undertone of pride of her family and heritage. She talked about the Hakka association her grandfather had founded, and a number of old tales. Some were harder to understand, but I listened anyways. She talked about her education, and reminded of my duty to study hard, since I have been blessed with the opportunity.

She says that a lot, but this time, it was somewhat different. This time, I knew the background and history that made her constantly repeat that admonishment. It made that history to come alive.

Someday, I hope to gather all these tales, and write them all down. Stoires, of humor, and sorrow, and pride. Maybe I will someday. THese tales must not be forgotten. There is a loss whenever old memories are forgotten. It makes one feel less responsible, more ignorant of the weaknesses and strengths of his ancestors, and what he can do to uphold or get rid of old habits. I plan to write my family's stories down.

Maybe one, day, if I live to see my great-grandchildren, I can tell them of the day when their great-great-grandmother told me about my great-great-grandfather.

Long live history! Lng live heritage! Long live the memory of all heroic people, before, now and eventuall,y in times to come.