My grandparents migrated from China on a boat in the late 1930s. Grandma said they were still a kid, and they were running away from war.
They landed on a small village, southern east-coast of Sumatra. They got married in their teen, she has 11 children, 9 daughters and 2 sons. I always find it amusing whenever I told anyone about how many children they have, well, enough to form a soccer team.
They lived in the village for many years, even after all their children had settled down in other towns, they insisted to stay. Until one day a thief broke into their house and grandpa was stabbed on his upper arm, they decided to move to my hometown.
Grandma is the more friendly and chatty type as compared to Granpa, her smile was wide and warm whenever I visited her. At 5-feet tall, probably shorter, she looks really small when she stands beside grandpa, who is towering at 6 feet.
I love talking to grandma, I like to ask her about the past, how was life like during the war and how they used to live their every day life.
One thing that she always said, we all are vey fortunate today. She said basic need like rice, which now we can get easily get from any neighbourhood market, triple AAA grade, imported from Thailand, some even pre-washed. For them, they had to plant themselves.
I remember how she smiled, recalling how tiring it was to plant paddy fields. She said, even after the harvest, they still had to winnow the rice grains, they had to wait for wind to blow the chaff way. How afraid they were many times, when they had to hide under the bed after a gun shot from a distance. How meals could be so simple by just eating tapioca.
Though life is much better today, it may not be always rosy. Not long after they moved to my hometown, grandpa got a stroke, and that left him with half of his body paralyzed, and he had to be wheel-chair bound. Being wheel-chair bound in a small town in Indonesia, where the roads and streets are not disabled friendly, that leaves you with no choice but being confined at home most of the times.
Granpa became really quiet, he hardly spoke more than two words when I visited them, one to acknowledge me when I arrived, and the other when I said good bye. He preferred to spend his days resting on his bed, or on his wheel chair behind an open gate, by the road side, watching people, vechicles and the crowd passed through the time. He always looked sad and weak, and that goes on for a few years.
Last week, when I went back, he seems to be a changed person, more energetic and lively than before, finally I was able to see him smile again when I greeted him.
When he wanted to go out to the yard, Grandma pushed him on his wheelchair, my wife, and I tagged along. We had small conversations, he replied with his soft husky voice, hardly audible, grandma had to bend down, put her left ear close to his lips, she would interpret for us when explaining what granpa had just said, often with small laughters.
I asked her who shaved grandpa’s beard, she proudly said I did, I asked her who cut granpa’s hair, she moved her fingers tidying grandpa’s short hair, she smiled and said I did.
Her small gestures showed how much she loves grandpa, I was proud with her, I saw before my eyes, what wedding vow means when we say through sickness and health.
It is sad that life has to ever grow old, and how I wish granpa is able to walk at his old age. Yet life is always unpredictable, bad things do happen at the unexpected times.
Maybe simple things in life, now I shall learn to cherish each day, to be able to stand up, to walk, to move my fingers, I shall learn to be grateful.
