Walking Home

The Walk

Three steps.

Trailing behind, I made a conscious decision to give her a wide berth. She needed that breathing space. For every three steps she takes, she pauses and tucks her left arm behind her back to support it. In times of danger or fear, the natural human instinct is to curl the body inwards to protect the core organs. That was her move - she was protecting and comforting herself by falling back to her usual stance. Whenever she stopped, she would look around and asked for directions. Surprisingly, in this aging neighborhood, most of those who replied her did not stay in the area. With every rejection, she would waved her arm at me to chase me away while chiding me with the usual "wa ga gi gia, li ting chu. Li ay lao pei dan li. Dan nei li ay peng qin liao, bo ho jia." (I will walk by myself, you should go home. Your papa is waiting. Your rice/food will be cold and it won't be delicious)

Somehow, she has accepted that I was not going anywhere else. We continued on, and walked past a basketball court packed with sweaty uncles and boys. It was increasingly rowdy (as it should) and I got worried that a stray ball might hit her.

Along the way, we met a curious Malay elderly couple who shot sympathetic looks our way after ah-ma tried speaking to them in Hokkien (which they did not understand) while I explained that I was neither her grandchild nor her kidnapper.

The walk was excruciatingly slow. In fifteen minutes, we managed to cover a mere eighty meters. I thank God that the weather was cool with the occasional breeze because my patience was wearing thin. I was increasingly aware that my pipping hot fish soup was turning lukewarm and my sick papa was waiting for me. Whenever a breeze blew my way and cooled my head, I imagined it carrying all of my frustration away while repeating these words in my head,"Patience is a virtue. We are doing good." If I entertained any thought of leaving her, I would lapse into an imaginary dialogue with my mama admonishing me for abandoning her.

A Chinese temple came into sight, and it seemed to be an opportune time for both of us to abandon this collective journey. She was delighted to spot a sign of authority and familiarity, insisting that she could carry on her way by approaching the temple caretakers. I was welcomed to retrace my steps back home for I have passed "her" to others who could direct her.

Just before she could take a left turn and detour to the temple, we met an middle-aged man who was smoking in the void-deck of the Block. Ah-ma fell into her usual approach, and asked for directions from him. For once, this man looked alarmed and took a glance at me.

He dashed into the drizzling rain, and pointed in the exact same direction as I had done umpteen times. Fifteen minutes into the walk, we finally met someone who knew his way! Again, I was celebrating within because I felt vindicated that I was bring her on the right path home. I must have looked trustworthy because he was suddenly my ally. In the same coaxing voice, he tried persuading her, "Li ga gi gia bo ho, yi chua li teng chu." (It's not good for you to go by yourself, she will bring you home.) We even explained to her that she needed to cross a wide and busy two-way road, and it was not safe for her to go by herself.

We went back-and forth trying to persuade her because that paiseh monster has now re-surfaced and is raging strong. In a moment of weakness, I slipped out a white lie, "My ah-ma lives in Block 121! I visit her often, so we are going in the same direction." It was almost comical and laughable. Who would believe me?

The two of them stopped mid-sentence to look at me as though assessing the truth of my statement. I was cringing inwardly at the absurdity of my statement while struggling to keep my face straight. Stupid, stupid! How will they believe me?! In my mind, I was apologizing profusely to my very dead ah-ma somewhere in the universe for using her as an excuse and lying about her address.

After a moment of silence, ah-ma innocently asked, "Xiao Jie, li ay ah-ma de chu 121 ah?" (Miss, your granny's house is at Block 121?) The middle-aged man and I gave each other a look as though we have reached an agreement. Though we have just met, I felt a sense of camaraderie as we sprung into action simultaneously. I nodded profusely and he continued to persuade her.

She fell silent as though pondering her next steps. Stepping out into the drizzling rain, I opened my umbrella and waited for her to join me. The man and I became quiet because we knew she was deciding. Was I safer now because I also had an ah-ma? Or perhaps, I am safer now because there was another man who spoke better and more convincingly in Hokkien. We respected her need to preserve her dignity in finding her way home by herself. It's her choice.

When she held my arm and stepped into the umbrella, I felt a warm tingle to my core. Her next words were the ones I had been desperately waiting to hear, "Xiao Jie, gam xia li, li ay ah ma de chu di 121 ah?' (Miss, thank you. Your grandma's house is at Block 121?)

The sense of relief on the man's face was so evidently clear. We convinced her, and finally, we were closer to going home.

And now, I am a Miss.