"Was she the last of your grandparents?" asked the Ambassador as we had a chat over lunch the other day.
Perhaps it has never really struck home before this but with that line, it all came to light - this roller coaster of emotions that I have been on since Ah Ma passed. The feeling of guilty aside, there was this big gaping hole that seem to stare me down in the face each time I think about it. And it never did make any sense, right up till then.
A colleague of mine had remarked in her email to me: The loss of a grandparent always put us on uncertain grounds. And again, I never really understood what she meant.
In our world today, we rarely keep in our conscious minds that we are of a particular generation. It is always, levels in the family - but correct me if I'm wrong - we're all clumped into one big happy family tree. And like all trees in our sight these days, it is just a tree - the branches, the twigs, the leaves: it is all part of a tree.
Yet, if I look at my tree right now, really closely - a whole bottom level has been trimmed off. And while the top has sprouted new branches - they are young, not yet firm nor strong; very likely to break or splinter with a huge wind.
It is a time of change-over. It is a time of stepping up. As I told the undertaker the other day: Ah Ma's eldest grandchild is 48 years old. And as I told my Uncle as well: It's time to stop seeing us, his kids, his nephews and nieces, as if we are all 5 still, running around in our PJs as we chomp on our breakfast.
I do not feel ready. To be the middle section of the tree, supposedly the strong bits left while the level below us slowly lose their strength and the one above us builds theirs. It is a heavy weight that rests on these shoulders (and my cousins) as it is now up to us to hold this tree up, until our young'uns come into their own.
I suppose until readiness comes to me, I just have to do it like how I was taught: two feet forward, firmly planted on the ground and give it my best shot.
Perhaps it has never really struck home before this but with that line, it all came to light - this roller coaster of emotions that I have been on since Ah Ma passed. The feeling of guilty aside, there was this big gaping hole that seem to stare me down in the face each time I think about it. And it never did make any sense, right up till then.
A colleague of mine had remarked in her email to me: The loss of a grandparent always put us on uncertain grounds. And again, I never really understood what she meant.
In our world today, we rarely keep in our conscious minds that we are of a particular generation. It is always, levels in the family - but correct me if I'm wrong - we're all clumped into one big happy family tree. And like all trees in our sight these days, it is just a tree - the branches, the twigs, the leaves: it is all part of a tree.
Yet, if I look at my tree right now, really closely - a whole bottom level has been trimmed off. And while the top has sprouted new branches - they are young, not yet firm nor strong; very likely to break or splinter with a huge wind.
It is a time of change-over. It is a time of stepping up. As I told the undertaker the other day: Ah Ma's eldest grandchild is 48 years old. And as I told my Uncle as well: It's time to stop seeing us, his kids, his nephews and nieces, as if we are all 5 still, running around in our PJs as we chomp on our breakfast.
I do not feel ready. To be the middle section of the tree, supposedly the strong bits left while the level below us slowly lose their strength and the one above us builds theirs. It is a heavy weight that rests on these shoulders (and my cousins) as it is now up to us to hold this tree up, until our young'uns come into their own.
I suppose until readiness comes to me, I just have to do it like how I was taught: two feet forward, firmly planted on the ground and give it my best shot.
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