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This is an award-winning story by an RGS girl in a Commonwealth competition
What the Modern Woman Wants
by Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta
convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching
tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may
be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such
speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt
tighter but was careful not to touch the patent
leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter
had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show
very clearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her
sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old
woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation'
'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and
important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee
Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on
television. She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her
daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her
perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in
irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she
clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward
the backseat.
The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and
nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it
up and handed it to her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence
and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in
America. There have been a lot of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big
and important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view
window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's
wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic
look.
The phone began to ring again, an artificially
cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward
silence.
'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The
old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She
remembered her daughter telling her, how an English
name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones
being easily forgotten.
'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to
take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird
daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it
was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that
her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.
'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss
sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands
gripping her plastic bag in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It
looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the
ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the
back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main
hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business
suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she
made her brisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call
to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust
at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a
joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her
now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter
luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you
have given her. She has everything a young woman in
this world could possibly want. She has a big house
with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is
too clumsy to sew or cook.
Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a
rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the
top financial firm and even men listen to what she
says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her
everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be
merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while
reaping the harvest of success.
What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to
me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides
well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect
her happiness. A young woman does not want to be
hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.
The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in
her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence
she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering
ashes.
She bowed once more.
The old woman had been praying for her daughter for
thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a
melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a
son.
Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her
womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink
cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had
kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby
who could not work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her
new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed
that her daughter would grow up and have everything
she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed
that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.
She prayed every day that her daughter would be a
great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated,
could never become. A woman with nenggan; the ability
to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who
commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she
opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall
out and men would listen.
She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she
watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her,
speaking a language she scarcely understood. She
watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to
one who openly defied her, calling her laotu;
old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a
word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
(to be continued next post)
What the Modern Woman Wants
by Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta
convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching
tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may
be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such
speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt
tighter but was careful not to touch the patent
leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter
had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show
very clearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her
sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old
woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation'
'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and
important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee
Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on
television. She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her
daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her
perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in
irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she
clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward
the backseat.
The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and
nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it
up and handed it to her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence
and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in
America. There have been a lot of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big
and important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view
window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's
wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic
look.
The phone began to ring again, an artificially
cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward
silence.
'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The
old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She
remembered her daughter telling her, how an English
name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones
being easily forgotten.
'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to
take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird
daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it
was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that
her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.
'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss
sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands
gripping her plastic bag in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It
looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the
ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the
back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main
hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business
suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she
made her brisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call
to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust
at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a
joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her
now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter
luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you
have given her. She has everything a young woman in
this world could possibly want. She has a big house
with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is
too clumsy to sew or cook.
Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a
rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the
top financial firm and even men listen to what she
says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her
everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be
merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while
reaping the harvest of success.
What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to
me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides
well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect
her happiness. A young woman does not want to be
hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.
The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in
her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence
she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering
ashes.
She bowed once more.
The old woman had been praying for her daughter for
thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a
melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a
son.
Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her
womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink
cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had
kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby
who could not work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her
new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed
that her daughter would grow up and have everything
she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed
that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.
She prayed every day that her daughter would be a
great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated,
could never become. A woman with nenggan; the ability
to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who
commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she
opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall
out and men would listen.
She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she
watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her,
speaking a language she scarcely understood. She
watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to
one who openly defied her, calling her laotu;
old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a
word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
(to be continued next post)
Nice story!
