Lessons Learnt from my Grandparents
Light seeped in through the dusty windows, creating a shower of sunlight in the otherwise dark room. I sat, enchanted, in front of two old people: my grandparents. They were both clad in plain, mid-twentieth-century attire, plain to look at, but I had already learnt, from the moment I stepped in, not to judge from appearances. They were more knowledgeable than their antiquated quotidian dressing suggested.
The sun continued to set, painting shades of vermillion and crimson on the wooden walls. Stories of war, of peace, of disaster both inspired me and brought me close to tears. Each of these tales was rendered in exquisite detail.
Now came a story from the Second World War. Overconfidence, they told me, could be a bad quality. Pride and arrogance were also things to be avoided. That was how the Japanese could take the island over. The rulers of Singapore were simply too aloof to see the danger. That mistake could only be avoided if the younger generation was educated.
That, however, was not all to the story. Hardship and suffering were related to me. Months without clean water or solid food, proper housing or shelters, were vividly portrayed by my grandparents. Their voices were choked with emotion as they told me these sad stories. Suddenly, almost miraculously, my good fortune of being in such a wealthy household was apparent.
They took a break to light two long candles to push back the encroaching darkness. The flickering light landed on their faces, revealing, painfully clearly, for several long moments, their age-and their uncertainty of living on for much longer. Immediately I valued them more than any material possession I could ever have.
My grandmother now started on another tale. It was a more private affair this time, involving only my immediate family. Jealousy had broken up the once blissful household. Quarrels and arguments ensued. Neighbors had begun avoiding them. With no end to the family feud, the future seemed bleak. Everyone was about to pack up and leave the house.
Her voice broke now, a twinge of melancholia evident. “It was inevitable. Everyone knew it. On that fateful night of August 18, 1977, your uncle was murdered in his sleep. It was, as I believe, for his ten-million-dollar fortune the entire extended family was trying to get their hands on.”
It took only ten minutes for me to remember, for the rest of my lifetime, the power of jealousy.
There was still plenty more to be learnt. One could feel the passage of time passing before their very ears. The lives of two people were vibrantly laid in front of me, to examine, to study, to find mistakes, to correct them, and to learn from them. It was up to me to exploit these almost limitless resources, to use them for my own good. Morality and ethics, once defined in my mind only as hazy boundaries, were now tangible limits.
A gust of wind blew through the house, extinguishing the flickering candles were extinguished. The twilight now set upon the house, cloaking everything in darkness. The sound of my grandparents’ voices faded away, slowly, into the night, bidding me goodbye. I exited the house and began to ponder over these precious gems of wisdom.
Gareth Tan
3.13 Haggai
