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Mdm Low grew up in a kampong with no running water, cooking over charcoal and reading by kerosene lamp. She watched her world change from wet markets to supermarkets, from cash to digital payments. Recently, standing at a hawker stall trying to scan a CDC voucher while people moved quickly around her, she felt that old, familiar feeling of catching up all over again. At 86, she is still learning, still adapting, one step at a time.
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By 2am my grandmother was already shaking her awake. The lorry, sixteen wheels, tall as a house, wouldn’t arrive until 5am, but timing it right across so many households near the water was never simple, especially with the flood water rising fast. My mother would wait in the dark and cold, half-asleep, until it was time to go. School didn’t start till 7.30am, but they’d already be there by 6am, napping on benches until the gates opened. Afterward came the cleaning, the ruined chairs, the tables, the small sentimental things the water simply took. It was enough to make a young girl swear she’d move to a city one day, and never live like this again.
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Dusty roads, sugarcane shadows, and hearts pounding with mischief. Aunt Carol and her friends crouched low, waiting for the exact moment a worker’s back was turned or a stray stalk tumbled from an overfilled cart. Then came the dash, the grab, and the scramble back into hiding. Under the shade of a banana tree, one bite of raw, syrupy sweetness made every risk worth it.
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She never asked for much herself. Up at 5 a.m. every day, stretching every dollar, feeding everyone before herself. Behind an arranged marriage and a lifetime of quiet responsibility was a woman who kept her family’s future safe in her own two hands. My Ah Ma’s love was never spoken aloud. It was measured in early mornings, packed meals, and never once thinking of herself first.
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Long days of hard labour, then evenings perched on parked lorries with friends who felt like family. My grandmother’s happiest years weren’t easy ones. They were simple, shared, and full of laughter along Amoy Street.
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A mother’s greatest legacy is not what she leaves behind for her children, but what she builds within them. In that respect, my mother has left us a priceless gift.
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One of my most memorable memories of her is how she never gave up, even during difficult times. After her stroke, she continued to show courage and patience despite challenges she faced. Watching her strength taught me the true meaning of perseverance and unconditional love.
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Caring for mothers and newborn babies became more than a profession—it became her gift to the world. She brought warmth, reassurance, and strength to countless families during some of the most important moments of their lives.
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I once asked my mother, “What was the unhappiest time in your life?” She replied that she felt a sense of emptiness and sadness when I went off to university and started working—that she felt like she no longer had a place in my life. Her colleagues even told me the same thing, saying that during that time, they saw her desk filled with A4 sheets covered with my name written over and over again.
3 months ago -
Life will not always go as planned. There will be moments when things shift without warning. What you hold on to in those moments matters… That a cheerful heart, even in difficulty, is not something small. It changes how you carry the weight.
