As Tears Go By
For the last few days, I have been calling Ah Nai's phone number. There was no answer. I called again and again for days. Finally, this afternoon, someone picked up.
Decades ago, it was not uncommon for owners of properties in Hong Kong to subdivide a flat into tiny partitioned rooms and rent them to individual low-income households. Imagine tens of people -- old and young -- all lived together, sharing one bathroom and a kitchen . . . That was how we met Ah Nai (nickname for "Auntie") and family. She was our flatmate. She was the one who named me. She was like a second mom to me. As a toddler, I was glued to her. Her presence was a blessing to me and a relief to my mom.
One day, Ah Nai told me her family was moving away. She told me her phone number and asked me to memorize it. "I will wait for your call. Don't ever forget me." She gave me a hug and waved goodbye. That was the first time I was separated from someone I loved.
It was her son who answered the phone. He told me Ah Nai passed away two years ago. "Two years ago? I saw her two years ago when I came back to Hong Kong to visit . . . " The son confirmed, "Yeah, two years ago. The last time you saw her was really the last time."
I scrambled for something to say, but came up with nothing. So, I just wished him well and hung up.
I came too late.
Two years ago, I went to see Ah Nai when I came back to Hong Kong for a visit. Unlike the quick, witty and street smart woman I remembered, Ah Nai seemed spaced out and lost. She did not have a close relationship with her only son or his family. She was overweight and her general health was not good. Her legs were weak, so her mobility was poor. She stayed up all night to watch TV and only got up at 1 or 2pm to eat "breakfast" at 3pm. I am almost certain she was depressed. It made me sad to see her being so unhappy and unwell.
During my visit, we found out she missed a doctor's appointment at a public clinic just the day before. "What do I do now? It took me a long time to get that appointment. They will be mad at me. They won't see me anymore, I am old and useless . . . " she started panicking. "I am sure we can reschedule. Don't worry." I comforted her. Ah Nai used to be a resourceful person. She would not have reacted this way. Is it because of her age? Or is it something with her mental state? I decided I would take her to the clinic to straighten things out.
I got up early the next day to pick her up and then took her to the clinic. The doctors would not see her that day, but they agreed to give her a new appointment for a few weeks later. To Ah Nai, it was a miracle. To celebrate such a major accomplishment, we decided to stroll back to her place.
Many emotions came through as we walked with her chubby little hand in mine. I used to be the helpless little person who counted on her adult hand to take me places. But now, she was the one clutching onto my hand for support and guidance. Every once in a while, I looked down to check on her; she glanced upward to showed me a smile. I did not remember her being so short. We walked super slowly on the street because that was her top speed.
Before I left, I promised her I would come back to see her again. I wanted to show her that all that love and care that she gave me were not in vain. Someone has been loving her remotely all these years. Nothing has changed. I want her to know. But, I came too late.
I have memorized Ah Nai's phone number for forty some years. Today I dialed it for the last time.
Decades ago, it was not uncommon for owners of properties in Hong Kong to subdivide a flat into tiny partitioned rooms and rent them to individual low-income households. Imagine tens of people -- old and young -- all lived together, sharing one bathroom and a kitchen . . . That was how we met Ah Nai (nickname for "Auntie") and family. She was our flatmate. She was the one who named me. She was like a second mom to me. As a toddler, I was glued to her. Her presence was a blessing to me and a relief to my mom.
One day, Ah Nai told me her family was moving away. She told me her phone number and asked me to memorize it. "I will wait for your call. Don't ever forget me." She gave me a hug and waved goodbye. That was the first time I was separated from someone I loved.
It was her son who answered the phone. He told me Ah Nai passed away two years ago. "Two years ago? I saw her two years ago when I came back to Hong Kong to visit . . . " The son confirmed, "Yeah, two years ago. The last time you saw her was really the last time."
I scrambled for something to say, but came up with nothing. So, I just wished him well and hung up.
I came too late.
Two years ago, I went to see Ah Nai when I came back to Hong Kong for a visit. Unlike the quick, witty and street smart woman I remembered, Ah Nai seemed spaced out and lost. She did not have a close relationship with her only son or his family. She was overweight and her general health was not good. Her legs were weak, so her mobility was poor. She stayed up all night to watch TV and only got up at 1 or 2pm to eat "breakfast" at 3pm. I am almost certain she was depressed. It made me sad to see her being so unhappy and unwell.
During my visit, we found out she missed a doctor's appointment at a public clinic just the day before. "What do I do now? It took me a long time to get that appointment. They will be mad at me. They won't see me anymore, I am old and useless . . . " she started panicking. "I am sure we can reschedule. Don't worry." I comforted her. Ah Nai used to be a resourceful person. She would not have reacted this way. Is it because of her age? Or is it something with her mental state? I decided I would take her to the clinic to straighten things out.
I got up early the next day to pick her up and then took her to the clinic. The doctors would not see her that day, but they agreed to give her a new appointment for a few weeks later. To Ah Nai, it was a miracle. To celebrate such a major accomplishment, we decided to stroll back to her place.
Many emotions came through as we walked with her chubby little hand in mine. I used to be the helpless little person who counted on her adult hand to take me places. But now, she was the one clutching onto my hand for support and guidance. Every once in a while, I looked down to check on her; she glanced upward to showed me a smile. I did not remember her being so short. We walked super slowly on the street because that was her top speed.
Before I left, I promised her I would come back to see her again. I wanted to show her that all that love and care that she gave me were not in vain. Someone has been loving her remotely all these years. Nothing has changed. I want her to know. But, I came too late.
I have memorized Ah Nai's phone number for forty some years. Today I dialed it for the last time.
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