A Family's Tale

A Journey To Death and Beyond

Looking into her eyes, I saw a sense of satisfaction, one that I had been so familiar with yet one that had now become distant. As I stared at the obituary, her poised words ran through my mind. "A picture paints a thousand words," she used to say. Her picture painted a thousand memories for me. She loved admiring the paintings I used to do in art class as a child and hence, would frame them up around the house. Often, I found myself over the moon just because she had gushed, "good girl" or "that's impressive" to me. I always thought she praised me because she wanted to make me feel special. Her simple deed could make me so ecstatic and proud.

Every time she gave me a compliment or a reward, it had made my day. Her small gesture would make me feel like I was skilled and that I would be destined to be great. Hence, I would put on a wide, contented and gleeful beam. Seeing this, she would replicate my expression as well. She was glad that I was glad. Only then had I understood that her praise had other purposes as well. These simple memories once seemed insignificant but now would guide me on how to live without regrets.

They taught me to find joy in the smallest of acts, no matter the situation. By doing so, you will ensure that there is always some form of positivity to look at and rejoice with. I learned that to enjoy life's greatest opportunities we need to look past our miseries and focus on our euphoric moments. No matter what we had lost or were going through, delight could fix it all. Between my grandmother and me, we had enough to last another lifetime.

As my mother was presenting her eulogy, I recalled a distant memory. On usual days, my mother used to read me stories from the countless books I had in my bookshelf. They were about princesses, mermaids or even about cute animals that would move in the books. My three-year-old self was mesmerised by them of course. However, my five-year-old self soon figured out it had just been my mom controlling the paper and the effect wore off. I was looking for adventure, for mystery. I was looking for something that would keep hiding under my blanket, yet have my ears piqued for more.

That was the greatest gift my grandmother brought for me from India, our homeland. She had come to visit us in Singapore. Seeing me bored by the stories I had already known by heart, my grandmother took it upon her stride to present me with a new story every night. She would tell me Indian folk tales or legendary mythology. Sometimes she would even tell me about real wars that occurred. I was clueless about the significance these stories had to my family and my heritage. In my tiny mind, there were interesting worlds my grandmother had cooked up that I could explore whenever I was bored. Never once did it occur to me that they may be real.

One of the stories I significantly remember was the story about a girl who had to flee to be free. The way my grandmother had portrayed it, had made the story seem to come alive. I could see my grandmother empathising with the characters. I could see it in her eyes, as if they were almost playing the incidents of the story for me to watch. I could see it in her wildly gestures and animated voice as she talked and signalled the events of the story, making my ordinary room transform into the fictional scene in itself.

In the midst of the flourishing Sri Lanka, a girl lived in Kandy with her family of nine. She resided among the breath-taking valleys and clear, fresh streams. Temperatures that made you feel cosy under warm blankets was the norm and waking up with a cup of herbal tea was her version of having a daily dose of morning sunshine. Along with the mist she would travel to school on her oversized bike, cheerily chatting with friends about the latest gossip in town. Between home and school, the hills below that went on and on was their place of solace. This was the place they believed was home.

It was 1978. A cold, brutal war had broken out. Bloodshed stained the streets and animosity filled the atmosphere. Sri Lanka had been blossoming as the Sinhalese and Tamils co-existed in harmony. As racial unrest became more profound, the country broke into a national panic.

As a Tamilian, the girl saw her people being attacked. She wanted to help but she herself was helpless. She felt trapped, nowhere to go or hide. The hills that once sang melodious tunes, screamed at her to leave the place. Her friends looked at her in disgust and refused to utter a word to her. Even receiving a snarky comment from them seemed like a blessing to her. She was shunned from all the shops and the family was struggling to even survive. Stones were constantly being hurled at their house causing relief to become an unknown emotion and freedom to seem like a made up opulence. They had been trapped inside their four walls and yet within those four walls they found no peace. Fear engulfed the family as a whole and they were terrified of their fate that lay ahead.

Once, the girl had been finishing up her painting for class at their lavish dining table and her father had rushed into the room. Beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead as he hollered for everyone to leave urgently. His legs would not remain on the floor and his hands were shaking. His widened eyes and tensed face had given the family members all the explanation needed. The girl scanned the room for her possessions as her loved ones scrambled out through the back door. Fixated on the framed painting on the wall, the girl grabbed a stool and reached for the custom carved agar wood frame.

A loud explosion followed by crackling flames barged into the dining room. Slipping off the stool, the girl stared into the intense red. Paralysed with fear, she stood rooted to the ground like a deer caught in headlights. Before her eyes could comprehend the sights surrounding her, a firm arm wrapped around her and she left slumped on someone's back. Leaving the heat filled home, she saw the flames following her, as if mocking her for her misery. As she watched the fine ornaments and exquisite furniture burn down, her eyes fixated on the paintings on the wall. Among the many, she concentrated on the large family portrait which showed an affluent, exuberant and care-free bunch, reminding her of what she had lost forever.

Despite it being a favourite, whenever my grandmother shared this tragic story, her hazel eyes would swell up with tears and she seemed to go off into a different world. I used to brush it off thinking it had just been because of the devastating incidents of the story. It would only be later on in my life that I realised that it had been her life story.

This caused me to reflect on what my grandmother truly cherished in her lifetime. She had been through so much emotionally and physically. What did she consider to be her best years and what would she want to take back? Was it her life before the war without constraints, and filled with liberty or had it been her robust, hearty youth which had been slowly robbed by her condition, venous insufficiency, which led to death? Perhaps it had been the affluent lifestyle she had the pleasure to indulge in her formative years. I wanted to know what it had been so that I could ensure I knew what mattered the most.

As I saw the casket slowly coming to a close, only one thought ran in my mind. Alive or dead, she had always been smiling. The incidents that happened in her life caused a roller coaster of emotions and repercussions for her. Whether they resulted in positive outcomes or disastrous problems, her aim was to provide a good life for her children. Like every mother, she wanted them to grow up to be whatever they wanted to be. Most importantly, she wanted to provide a life filled with memories they could look back on and rejoice. She wanted constant laughter in the house. Even during tough times, she wanted us to stay strong and just indulge in the smallest of triumphs left. In her words, "No matter how we feel, what we are doing or who we are with, as long as our heart is contented and our faces are filled with grins, we will be alright because the one thing no one can control is how you feel. That is for only you to decide."