Traffic towards Penang and on the island is always bad during the holidays. — CHAN BOON KAI/The Star
MY family and I have always made it a point to travel home to Penang for the Chinese New Year reunion dinner ahead of the actual festival.
One reason is that we want to avoid the annual massive traffic jam on roads to the island which can be a nightmare, especially from the second day of the celebrations.
Penang has always been a favourite holiday destination for many, but for us Penangites, it’s no fun when the island comes to a near standstill.
There is also no compelling reason to be there on the actual dates of CNY as I try to visit my 95-year-old mother at least once a month, even if it’s just for a few hours. I adjust my work appointments to fit in some precious time with my ageing mum. The reality is: time is running out.
For the first time, my mum had to attend this year’s reunion dinner at a restaurant in a wheelchair. That meant my niece had to look for an eatery with facilities to accommodate someone in a wheelchair.
Signs of dementia have also crept in, cruelly. Her memory is faltering. She can still recognise faces and names but, like many people her age, she kept asking the same questions, minutes apart. I was asked repeatedly when I returned from Kuala Lumpur when I had just stepped into the home; and when she would see me again.
It was heart-wrenching, but this is expected. When we reach those advanced years, we too, would be in the same health predicament. The great thing was, she still has a good appetite. Although she is eating less, she still insists on getting her regular fix of nasi kandar – and only from Hameediyah on Campbell Street. I have to give thanks for food delivery services; if not my niece, who is really an angel for taking care of my mother, would have to travel from our Kampung Melayu home in Air Itam to town to please her.
My mum’s stories and questions may circle back on themselves, but they are threads in the fabric of who we are. We are thankful that we can still hear these questions.
There was a time when she held everything together in ways we hardly noticed. She remembered every birthday. She was the bridge between siblings, the keeper of traditions, the gentle reminder that family comes first.
In those leaner years, she managed the household with quiet efficiency. Meals were simple but always good. There was no extravagance, yet we never felt deprived.
Now, we repeat answers without impatience. We smile when she tells us, once again, about the past, especially the family stories.
In caring for her, we are learning again the meaning of devotion – the same devotion she once showed us so naturally. And with each passing year, as CNY approaches, my heart carries a private fear.
We know how the aged can be temperamental and unfairly demanding, which is difficult for the caregiver. That task, unfortunately, falls on my niece, who drops by every day to check on her. I am forever grateful to her. It’s a relief that my brother lives next door to her, with another one not far away. The presence of a faithful maid has also helped.
Still, we are thankful that mum can still walk around the house on her own with a walker. Age has slowed her stride, but it has not diminished her presence. In our family, she remains the quiet centre, not by command, not by fear, but by the gentle authority of love.
My father passed away at 95 in 2020 after coming down with dengue fever. It took my mum a long time to get over it. She often stared aimlessly out the window, almost as if she was hoping he would come back.
Both had never had real friends outside. They only had each other. They travelled everywhere in each other’s company. Their life and times were for each other and no one else.
I have never heard them express their love or show affection openly but that’s what typical Asian families were like. We saw the true meaning of love in my parents even though it was never expressive. Their devotion to each other has reminded me how important it is to spend as much the time as possible with your loved ones, especially as they age.
Deep in my heart, I know that mum is the one holding my siblings and our children together, especially during the CNY reunion. Mum no longer cooks, naturally. But there was a time when she took pains, like a true blue Peranakan nonya, to cook the best meals. Her otak otak, perut ikan and curry and sambal belacan were legendary, to me, at least.
My father, who had come to Penang as a teenager from Langkawi, Kedah, as a shop assistant was not rich. But he was a good father. Not once did he use the rotan on me – delegating the job to my mum instead.
What we had in abundance was stability. We felt safe and loved. Every Sunday would be a family outing. Dad would take us out for the best food, either at a coffee shop or restaurant. Now, the roles are reversed. The children have to care for the parents but I wish I could do more.
I feel horribly guilty that I am unable to spend as much time as I should with mum, knowing that she is entering the last phase of her life. Soon, she may not be able to even recognise me, an affliction my father had suffered too. It’s a fear I continuously harbour. I wish I could care for and protect her with the same love and devotion that she gave me and my brothers.
The reunion dinner is thus our most sacred ritual, for I do not know if this tradition will continue when mum is no longer around. My brothers are already in their 70s, with health and financial issues. One is already a widower. Another sibling, like me, lives in KL.
For the time being, it is heartwarming that mum still sits at the centre of the table – even though the reunion dinner has to be at a restaurant. Thanks to her, the journey home for the reunion, carries a real meaning. She is the reason why my family is in Penang.
It has grown to two tables to accommodate the extending family every year, squeezed to accommodate children, spouses, and now grandchildren.
It was good to see my mother smiling away as she was seated with three generations of the Wong family. I am sure Dad was watching us from above, also with a smile.
I wish this family bonding can continue for some years. The photographs taken after the reunion dinner weren’t just to mark the festival but a record of CONTINUITY.
I am sure many Malaysians can relate to my story.
We must appreciate and love our parents while they are still around. One day, they will just be memories.
It’s still not too late to wish Malaysians celebrating the CNY a happy and prosperous year. Gong Xi Fa Cai!
