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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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Growing up in a big family was not always easy. My father favoured sons over daughters, leaving my sisters and I to resolve things on our own. Financial constraints and the lack of a conducive home environment meant formal education was a challenge I could not fully complete. Adulthood brought change. I found my footing, met my partner through mutual connections, and together we built a home and family of our own. When it came to our children, I never pushed for top grades. What mattered more was that they enjoyed the learning journey and grew as individuals along the way.
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It started at the circus arena in Guangzhou. Watching the stunts, dad mentioned those same acts were part of Singapore life in the 1970s, and a chain of sharing began.
Stories flowed of ancestors who made their way to Nanyang, of fishing villages and rubber plantations where great-grandparents lived simply off the land. Hard labour, humble living, yet none of the stress that weighs on us today. I was there to bridge the language gap between the generations, turning words into something all three could share. More than a holiday, it was memory, history and family woven into one unforgettable experience. -
Dad turns 72 this July. He has always been the heart of our kitchen, baking, boiling and stewing with quiet pride. From a generation where men rarely admitted to loving such things, he never hid it. Cooking, gardening, looking after grandchildren and great grandchildren brought him genuine joy. In honour of his birthday, I am sharing his personal recipe for chicken winter melon soup. Try it yourself, or simply let it remind you to appreciate the soft, vulnerable side of the people you love.
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My mother Mary was the strictest person I knew growing up. Curfews, rules, and the cane if we disobeyed. It was hard to imagine she was ever anything else. But she was. Born in 1941, she never went to school like her brothers did. Instead she learned dressmaking and spent her youth on group trips to Changi Beach, riding lorries, eating satay in the sun, and sneaking into midnight screenings to catch famous movie stars in person. Learning this changed how I see her. Before she was my disciplinarian, she was a young woman with a life full of joy.
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At 85, my mother carries a lifetime of quiet courage. Two stories define her. She travelled to Germany over 50 years ago and came back the first woman in her family to wear pants and cut her hair short. Then an electric shock from a faulty heater damaged her nerves and left her with lifelong spinal problems. When she could not bend at all, she learned to pick up a needle with her toes. Change and resilience, in equal measure.
