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Hi ,It's worthwhile taking 5 mins to readthis essay. Singapore girl winsCommonwealth essay prize! A15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competingagainst 16-to 18-year-olds, has won the top prizein a writing contest that drew 5,300entries from 52.
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*What the Modern Woman Wants**By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen*
The old woman sat in the backseat ofthe magenta convertible as it careeneddown the highway, clutching tightly tothe plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind.
Shewas not used to such speed, withtrembling hands she pulled theseatbelt tighter
Shewas not used to such speed, withtrembling hands she pulled theseatbelt tighter
but was careful not totouch the patent leather seats withher callused fingers,
her daughter hadwarned her not to dirty it,'Fingerprints showvery clearly on white, Ma.'Her daughter, Bee Choo, was drivingand talking on her sleek silver mobilephone using big words the old womancould barely understand.
'Finance''Liquidation' 'Assets''Investments'...
Her voice was crisp andimportantand had an unfamiliar lilt to it.
HerBee Choo sounded like one of thoseforeign girls on television. She wasspeaking in an American accent.The old lady clucked her tongue indisapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. Wehave to sell!'
Her daughter exclaimedagitatedly as she stepped on theaccelerator; her perfectly manicuredfingernails gripping onto the steeringwheel in irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!'
sheyelled as she clicked the phone shutand hurled it angrily toward thebackseat.
The mobile phone hit the oldwoman on the forehead and nestledsoundlessly into her lap.
She calmly picked it up and handed itto her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing theAmerican pretence and switching toMandarin.
'I have a big client inAmerica.
There have been a lot ofproblems.
'The old lady nodded knowingly.
Herdaughter was big and important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from therear view window, wondering what shewas thinking.
Her mother's wrinkled countenancealways carried the same cryptic look.
The phone began to ring again, anartificially cheerful digital tune,which broke the awkward silence.
'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this isElaine.' Elaine.
The old woman cringed. Ididn't name her Elaine.
She remembered her daughter tellingher, how an English name was veryimportant for 'networking',Chinese ones being easily forgotten.
'Oh no, I can't see you for lunchtoday.
I have to take the ancient relicto the temple for her weird dailyprayer ritual.
'Ancient Relic.
The old womanunderstood perfectly it was referring toher.
Her daughter always assumed
That hermother's silence meant she did notcomprehend.
'Yes, I know! My car seats will bereeking of joss sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly,her hands gripping her plastic bagin defence.The car curved smoothly into thetemple courtyard.
It looked almost garishnext to the dull sheen of the ageingtemple's roof.
The old woman got outof the back seat, and made herunhurried way to the main hall.Her daughter stepped out of the car inher business suit and stilettos andreapplied her lipstick as she made herbrisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have animportant phone call to make,' she said,not bothering to hide her disgust atthe pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the templehall and lit a joss stick, she kneltdown solemnly and whispered her nowfamiliar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you havegiven my daughter luck all these years.
Everything I prayed for, you havegiven her. She has everything a youngwoman in this world could possiblywant. She has a big house with aswimming pool, a maid to help her, asshe is too clumsy to sew or cook.
Her love life has been blessed; she isengaged to a rich and handsomeangmoh man. Her company is now the topfinancial firm and even men listento what she says.
She lives theperfect life. You have given her everythingexcept happiness. I ask that the godsbe merciful to her even if she haslost her roots whilereaping the harvest of success.What you see is not true - she is afilial daughter to me.
She gives me aroom in her big house and provideswell for me. She is rude to me onlybecause I affect her happiness. A youngwoman does not want to be hindered byher old mother. It is my fault.The old lady prayed so hard that tearswelled up in her eyes.
Finally,with her head bowed in reverence sheplanted the half-burnt joss stick intoan urn of smouldering ashes.She bowed once more.
The old woman had been praying for herdaughter for thirty-two years. Whenher stomach was round like a melon,she came to the temple and prayed thatit was a son.Then the time was ripe and the babyslipped out of her womb, bawling andadorable with fat thighs and pinkcheeks, but unmistakably, a girl.
Herhusband had kicked and punched her forproducing a useless babywho could not work or carry the familyname.Still, the woman returned to thetemple with her new-born girl tied to herwaist in a sarong and prayed that herdaughter would grow up and haveeverything she ever wanted.
Herhusband left her and she prayed that herdaughter would never have to depend ona man.She prayed every day that her daughterwould be a great woman, the womanthat she, meek and uneducated, couldnever become.
A woman with nengkan;the ability to do anything she set hermind to. A woman whocommanded respect in the hearts ofmen. When she opened her mouth to speak,precious pearls would fall out and menwould listen.
She will not be like me, the womanprayed as she watched her daughter growup and drift away from her, speaking alanguage she scarcely understood.
She watched her daughtertransform from a quiet girl, toone who openly defied her, calling herlaotu; old-fashioned.
She wanted hermother to be 'modern', a word so newthere was no Chinese word for it.Now her daughter was too clever forher and the old woman wondered why shehad prayed like that.The gods had been faithful to herpersistent prayer, but the wealth andsuccess that poured forth so richlyhad buried the girl's roots and now shestood, faceless, with no identity,bound to the soil of her ancestors byonly a string of origami banknotes.
Her daughter had forgotten hermother's values. Her wants were soephemeral; that of a modern woman.Power, Wealth, access to the bestfashion boutiques, and yet her daughterhad not found true happiness.
The old woman knew that you could findhappiness with much less. When herdaughter left the earth everythingShe had would count for nothing.
People would look to her legacy and saythat she was a great woman, but shewould be forgotten once the wind blowsover, like the ashes of burnt paperconvertibles and mansions.The old woman wished she could go backand erase all her big hopes andprayers for her daughter; now she hadonly one want:
That her daughter behappy. She looked out of the templegate. She saw her daughterspeaking on the phone, her browfurrowed with anger and worry. Being at thetop is not good, the womanthought, there is only one way to gofrom there - down.
The old woman carefully unfolded theplastic bag and spread out a packetof beehoon in front of the altar.Her daughter often mocked her forworshipping porcelain Gods.
How could shepray to them so faithfully and expectpieces of ceramic to fly to her aid?But her daughter had her own gods too,idols of wealth, success and powerthat she was enslaved to andworshipped every dayof her life.
Every day was a quest for the idols,and the idols she worshipped countedfor nothing in eternity.All the wants her daughter had wouldslowly suck the life out of her andleave her, an empty soulless shell atthe altar.
The old lady watched her joss tick.The dull heat had left a teetering greystem that was on the danger of collapsing.Modern woman nowadays, the old ladysighed in resignation, as she bowed tothe east one final time to end herritual.
Modern woman nowadays want somuch that they lose their souls andwonder why they cannot find it. Herjoss stick disintegrated into a softgrey powder.
She met her daughteroutside the temple, the same look ofworry and frustration was etched onher daughter's face. An emptyexpression, as if she was ploughing throughthe soil of her wants looking for theone thing that would sow the seeds ofhappiness.
They climbed into the convertible insilence and her daughter drove alongthe highway, this time not as fast asshe had done before.'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said.
'I don'tknow how to put this. Mark and I havebeen talking about it and we plan tomove out of the big house. Theproperty market is good now, and wemanaged to get a buyer willing to payseven million for it.
We decided we'dprefer a cosier penthouse apartmentinstead. We found a perfectone in Orchard Road . Once we move into our apartment we plan to get ridof the maid, so we can have more spaceto ourselves...'The old woman nodded knowingly.
Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd getsomeone to come in to do the houseworkand we can eat out-but once the maidis gone, there won't be anyone to lookafter you.
You will be awfully lonelyat home and, besides that, theapartment is rather small.
There won'tbe space. We thought about it for along time, and we decidedthe best thing for you is if you movedto a Home. There's one nearHougang-it's a Christian home, a verynice one.'The old woman did not raise aneyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron iswilling to take you in.
It's beautifulwith gardens and lots of old peopleto keep you company! I hardly havetime for you, you'd be happier there.
''You'd be happier there, really.' Herdaughter repeated as if to affirmherself.This time the old woman had no plasticbag of food offerings to clingtightly to; she bit her lip andfastened her seat belt, as if it wouldprotect her from a daughter who didnot want her anymore.
She sunk deepinto the leather seat, letting hershoulders sag, and her fingers trace thewhite seat.'Ma?' her daughter asked, searchingthe rear view window for her mother.'Is everything okay?'What had to be done, had to be done.
'Yes,' she said firmly, louder thanshe intended, 'if it will make youhappy,' she added more quietly.'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happierthere.
You can move there tomorrow, Ialready got the maid to pack yourthings.' Elaine said triumphantly,mentally ticking yet another item offher agenda.'I knew everything would be fine.'Elaine smiled widely; she feltliberated.
Perhapsgetting rid of her mother would makeher happier. She had thought about it.It seemed the only hindrance in herpursuit of happiness.
She was happynow. She had everything a modern womanever wanted;
Money, Status, Career,Love,Power and now, Freedom, withouther mother and her old-fashioned waysto weigh her down...Yes, she was free.
Her phone buzzedurgently, she picked it up and read themessage, still beaming from ear toear. 'Stocks 10% increase!
'Yes, things were definitely beginningto look up for her...And while searching for the meaning oflife in the luminance of her handphone screen, the old woman in thebackseat became invisible, and she didnot see the tears.
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i found tis realli touchin n horribly sad. but sumhow whn u look at it. its sadly true
Labels: da new era
"You leave me SPEECHLESS, when you talk to me."
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