My Safe Place

As I stared at the mugs, hot tears of nostalgia began to blur by vision. Surrounded by peeling walls and dated furniture, I was standing in my safe place.

She grabbed the hand rail to hoist her small frame up the steps, leading to the front door. A weakened knee was to blame. Knowing that I was coming over for dinner, she had hobbled to the shops to pick up some last minute groceries. We entered the narrow doorway, and I was greeted by the familiar scent of corn soup, and the trailing line of incense coming from the family shrine. Other things were not so familiar. The white lace curtains had gone yellow, the wall paint was cracked, and the bathroom ceiling was more mouldy than usual.

Without bothering to catch her breath, Por Por (grandma) raced to the kitchen to light up the wok, joyfully calling out to Gong Gong (grandpa) to help her prepare my favourite dishes. They shuffled around their tiny kitchen bickering for space.

I did my routine lap of the house, scanning the family photos that were littered in each room. Their bedroom was cold and dark. The carpet had been removed years ago, but had never been replaced. On a bedside table was a stunning photo of my grandparents in their youth. Their skin was free from wrinkles, and their eyes wide with hope. A snapshot of a time before migration, and the harsh realities of looking for work, and setting up Chinese restaurants in a foreign land.

Crossing back into the dining room, I observed their china cabinet that contained a humble collection of trinkets, that had been collected over 30 years. Among their prized possessions, and displayed at the very front, was a couple of cheap, plastic mugs that I had gifted to them as a child. I remember that Christmas, saving every dollar I could afford from the the lunch money I received. I wanted to buy something nice for Por Por and Gong Gong, even if my tummy would go hungry for the day.

As I stared at the mugs, hot tears of nostalgia began to blur by vision. Surrounded by peeling walls and dated furniture, I was standing in my safe place. A place that had always promised me unconditional love expressed in lavish meals and endless games of mahjong and Big 2. A place where I learned Chinese, and sang along to 90’s Hip Hop blaring from my uncle’s bedroom. A place where I knew I belonged.

“Sek Farn! Dinner is ready!”

Just like old times, we gathered around the dining table and my taste buds were delighted by the scents and flavours of my childhood.

“Eat more! When are you having a baby? Your Chinese is SO bad now!”

We laughed. I knew deep down, this translated to, “I love you. You’re going to be a great mum. I miss you.”

In amongst the chatter, a phone alarm went off. My heart sank. Time is cruel. I packed up the plates and chopsticks. Gong Gong initiated a hug with me.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

It crushed me that I couldn’t give a definitive answer. Time is cruel. Is grandma’s knee going to heal? Will this humble home stand the test of time?

Goodbyes are tough, especially when they can feel so permanent. I can only pray from a distance that God will one day welcome them home into an eternity where pain, tears, decay and goodbyes will be no more. When the hands that raised me will not only be my family by blood, but my family in Christ forever.

—

Journal entry originally written on the 17 September, 2017.