Urban life in any major city like Singapore is a rush of continual activity from morning to night, many in full-time employment, struggling to pay off hefty housing and car loans; kids to drop off and pick up from school, tuition classes and extra-curricular activities; or for singles, shopping, binges at bars, discos and night-clubs; and for the fit and active, surfing artificially generated waves in wave pools, cycling and evening strolls in manicured parks. Others watch TV programmes in High Definition on numerous cable channels, or play video games on their personal mobile devices, immersed in made-up worlds. Some people even live in virtual worlds, buying, selling, negotiating, and even falling in love with online avatars and a totally invented life.
The pressure that all these impose is subtle. To sit or stand still doing nothing would be considered peculiar. Communication is expected to be instant, with people answering text messages and calls immediately. People send photos of their meal as they eat, tweet their every move, and post selfies on Instagrams, as if the whole world must be privy to the minutiae of their daily lives, as if such affirmation rescues their lives from ordinariness and vacuity. Somewhere from the deep recesses of her mind, Socrates’ words float into Pansy’s mind, “Beware the barrenness of a busy life”. Indeed, Pansy thinks, it is so easy to believe one is living a fruitful life if one is constantly on the go. The irony of all these modern modes of communication is that though it will only take seconds these days for someone to send Pansy a message or photo of her grandchildren, those seconds remain unused. But then, it was as expected. Her grandchildren are young adults with their own lives to lead: Goldie is already a full-fledged accountant, Winona, studying to be a doctor, and Andie, a lawyer.
“You have to take her home when I die,” George Chan had said.
“Dad, you’re not going to die…” Anthony had protested weakly.
Anthony had flown to England with his family when he was told that his father had advanced prostate cancer. George was seventy-nine, three years older than Pansy. Anthony and Emily were surprised to find him at home and not in hospital. George wanted to die in his own home, a home which Pansy had made for them in the countryside where he had set up his own practice after moving out of Singapore. Initially, the locals had been surprised to encounter a Chinese Singaporean doctor when they turned up at the surgery but they were respectful, and gradually respect and acceptance turned into admiration. Anthony was mildly shocked to see his father’s gaunt face, his hair grown white. The deterioration had been swift. Of all the grandchildren, Goldie had seemed the most distraught. She projected a hard exterior with her short-cropped hair and manly clothes unlike her uber-feminine sisters, yet Pansy suspected she had a soft centre.
“I’m a doctor, son,” said George. “No need to pretend with me. Even physicians cannot out-beat the grim reaper. We think we know so much but in effect we know so little. Yet, I can die happy only if I know your mother is going to be taken care of. I think she has the onset of some form of dementia, perhaps Alzheimer’s. We don’t know which yet. No point her living here in England all by herself. You take her home. I was going to do it once I realised that my cancer was terminal, but it looks like I might be too late. So we’ll see a solicitor today and sign over the power of attorney to you, so you can handle all our affairs, take charge of all the money. It might not be long before she won’t be capable of managing these things. Promise me, you’ll take care of your mother…”
Anthony was their only child.
“I promise, dad.”
“Maybe you can have her live with you…?”
“Oh, that will not be possible lah,” Emily rushed in quickly. “With our three girls, the live-in helper, and another to cook and clean, our apartment is already quite crowded...”
George had been too weak to argue. He wished that Anthony had interjected, but he didn’t. It appeared that Anthony’s voice had begun to slowly diminish as his marriage trudged on. In the old days, it was the woman who lost her voice and her identity when she married. But today, a woman has economic freedom, so she can assert herself; her earning power is sometimes greater than her husband’s, resulting in a new breed of men. Fortunately, Pansy did not hear the exchange. She was busy in the kitchen preparing roast beef with all the trimmings, especially Yorkshire pudding, which she knew Anthony loved to lace with a deluge of gravy, quite apart from his predilection for Peranakan cuisine and Singapore hawker food. Goldie was taking a walk along the pebbled beach whilst her sisters were busy updating their Facebook and other social networking accounts on their iPads.
“Grandma, this place is heaven!” Goldie enthused when she returned. “I don’t know why but lately I’ve come to love the sea more and more. The sea here is so wild, so alive!”
Pansy did not have the presence of mind to pay much attention to Goldie then as her mind was on cooking for George. But later, she was to regret not taking the opportunity to tell Goldie about her own love for her village by the sea on the East Coast of Singapore.
Anthony had been eleven when they migrated to the UK, after George was disillusioned with the Singapore authorities. George had found a place by the sea,
