I pushed a full cart pass the laxly policed scanners before finding my way into mummy's embrace. The joy at having finally arrived in the land that I called home, and relief at the end of a long and tiring year, dissipated upon hearing the uttered words.
"Ah Kong is in the hospital."
"We didn't want to tell you because you were having your exams."
Time is experienced subjectively.
A stressful year seemed, to me, a long time. That, and the fact that the move to another country was a high stakes one. A do or die kind of thing (I exaggerate of course. But it sure felt like that).
Yet a year for Ah Kong seemed to move too rapidly. How could a person who appeared so in control of his mind and bodily functions at the start of the year deteriorate so much by December?
I would like to believe that Ah Kong waited for me to come home. Thank you for giving me the chance to see you for the last time. You lived a long and fulfilling life.
Rest in peace dearest grandpa.
