Walking Home

The Negotiation

I could almost hear the cogs in her brain working as she wrestled with these five words, "How will I get home?"

It was as though time had stopped. I could see all her emotions flashing across her face - self-doubt, defeat, panic and fear. A wave of sympathy washed over me as I was reminded of my own parents. I can already see them aging more day by day - their thinning white hair, the deepened wrinkles on their faces and the slight hunch of their backs. How will I feel if my parents lost their way? I shuddered at the thought of it. How will her children feel if they knew their mama was lost?

So many questions rushed into my mind, "Is her family nearby? Can we call her family to fetch her back? What if she fall on her way back home? They must be worried sick!"

I lifted my arm and pointed towards my two'o clock direction. With a levelled gaze and in a calm soothing voice, I spoke in my embarrassingly broken Hokkien, "Ah-ma! Di lee thao! li aye hiao gia beh?" (Granny, it's there! Do you know how to walk there?")

Upon hearing my words, she shuffled back and forth, and suddenly fell silent. Taken aback, I could read that the air had changed quickly. The connection was broken, and a tense feeling was settling in. She was afraid, and had every right to be. My terrible hokkien was appalling and cringe-worthy, but also, foreign and alien to her. I was not whom she thought I was to be. The friendly helpful neighborhood Aunty proficient in Hokkien and bargaining.

I tried to re-engage her by stooping to her level and establishing eye contact. Before I could speak, it was obvious that she was treating me as invisible - avoiding my gaze not once, but twice. Rather, she looked everywhere else except me. As more people passed by, she hollered after them, "Auntie/Uncle, where is Block 122? How do I walk there?" She started laughing as though sneering at herself, and was holding her forehead with her right hand. Clearly, she was panicking.

Looking at the fish soup in my hand, I knew I had to make a decision - should I make papa wait? It could be a good 10 minutes or half an hour later before I can bring food home if I were to bring her home. Yet, I know something was seriously wrong, and She needed help. I could not walk away with my conscience pecking away at me - "What if she fall down on the way home?" "What if she walk further away from home?" It was 6.30pm and still early in the evening. We still had light. I know my papa would have wanted me to help her. And I did, or rather, I tried again.

It was my turn to gather my courage and I said these words softly to her in a coaxing voice, "Ah-ma, wa chua li teng chu ho bor?" (Granny, can I bring you home?) To my relief, she replied. I attribute it to my warm smile, but perhaps she had enough of the cold rejections from the passer-bys.

However, her paiseh-ness has set in. This dreaded and pointless paiseh monster that feeds on our own perception of "troubling others" has awakened (Seriously, who cares that we are all fully adults capable of being responsible for our actions?). She said, "biao gin la, Xiao Jie, wa ay sai wen ba rang. Wa ga gi kia, dan nei wen rang" (It's ok, Miss. I can ask others. I will walk and ask others later.)

It was all that she needed to start. She walked three full steps in the correct direction, before she had to stop to rest. My heart jumped, and I was imagining fireworks being set off to celebrate this momentous moment.

We started her way home.