Kung Kung

Revision 04 Nov 2008
My Kung Kung pass away on the 14 July 2007, minutes before 1400 hours at Tan Tock Seng Hospital. He chose to go on a hotter than usual, humid saturday afternoon. When my mom arrived, she did not get to say a last goodbye to her dad. Save for a distant relative, an octogenarian like Kung Kung, whom "caught his last breath". Much like an hiccup, as she related to my mom later.

Kung Kung was born in the year of the monkey. I don't remember his birth date because birthdays do not warrant much attention in the family unlike the chinese new year, the mid autumn festival and such. Not that we don't celebrate birthdays at all, i remember the 21th birthday bash for my aunt as well as once, there was a combined celebration of sorts for my grandma and me (when i was still in primary school) as our birth "days" were only a few days apart. On his identification card, i was told it was stated 1919, however at the columbarium, the learned care-taker took the liberty to amend his birth year to 1920, permanently inscribed on the piece of real estate, his new home, and that was, the correct year of the monkey, he informed. My uncles were nonchalent to this seemingly trivia alteration, preferring to leave such matters to the experts.

Kung Kung was a hakka, his birth place was in the province of Canton(Kuang Tung), Tai Pu (pronounce in kek), China. I have not tried to look up Tai Pu on the map. My mom told me that Kung Kung's father used to run a make-shift comic books rental stall along the corridor of some pre-war houses in Foch road, Singapore.Unfortunately, i did not inherit any comic books of that era from Kung Kung, it would be interesting to see what they look like and you can imagine their monetary value now! Apart from this i do not know much of Kung Kung's growing up years.

He was a teacher teaching chinese in some chinese medium school when the Japanese invaded. He then switched to teaching Japanese. Sometimes i wonder where and how did he manage to pick up the Japanese language, to be proficient enough let alone teach. I never get to ask him. In 1941, my mom was born.

Kung Kung was one of the founding members of the Singapore Siow clan association. During the last night of the wake, the "whole gang" turn up, well, quite a sizable number going by ordinary folks standard, to pay their last respect to Kung Kung.

Apart from the teaching job he held in his youth, he was destine to be an "entreprenuer" till the day he retired. He tried his hands on farming. Mom related to me that they used to stay around Bartley Road area. It was a hard life. Grandma would help Kung Kung with the poultry feeds and the usual back breaking work associated with old fashion farming. Grandma would bewail recalling memories of their "kumpong" days.

Then he partnered and operated a family clinic in a shop house along Lavender Street with the late Dr Bun. Zhong Qing Drug House. Dr Bun (Bin Tze Sen in kek) according to mom, used to be a military doctor from China. I imagine he hailed from Zhong Qing. They were quite popular. Mom said that Dr Bun was very good especially with treating "children's cough". He would waive the charges for the trishaw riders whom went to seek treatment. I think it was possible then as the shop rental was vastly different from now. Having said that, one cannot feel untouched by Dr Bun's kindness, his genuine concern and practical help rendered to the needy for which there were quite a number then. I learnt that mom used to work there as a clinic assistant and she almost enrolled in nursing school if not for Kung Kung's objection. Maybe mom would have retired as a senior staff nurse now if she can endure the toil of a nursing career. I was told that Kung Kung had to give up the partnership when the government introduced a regulation that do not permit any individuals except certified medical doctors from running GP "business".

Kung Kung turned to making medicine, manufacturing, packaging, marketing and delivering them to his clients - the chinese medicine shop. It helps when the majority of the proprietors were also hakka. Again, it was my grandma, the one-woman manufacturing machine, brewing and then packing the paste into red and blue plastic containers all done at home. The blue disc-shape container measuring about 5cm in diameter and roughly 1.5cm thick would contain the specially formulated remedy for "general itchiness", like mosquito bites, rashes, etc. while the paste that went into the red container would be good remedy for fungal infection... i don't know where he got the formula. This was my earliest recollection of my grandparents in the 1970's. The minty aroma of the boiling paste would permeate the kitchen. It involves a process of stirring until the right texture is reached. By this time they have moved to St. Michaels Road, occupying one of the unit in the top floor of a four storey walk-up apartment. Now the CTE (Central Express Way) runs through the site where the apartment formerly stood.

I spent quite a fair bit of my childhood at St. Michaels Road. Rather then seeing us idling around, my cousin and i were robbed in as helpers with the "manufacturing" process. I endured the monotonous motion of turning the flat cut-out paper box into shape for packing the plastic containers. Besides watching TV, gazing out onto the road from the balcony, i'll roam the three bedrooms of my Kung Kung, uncles and an aunt, ramaging through their stuff, you can imagine how bored i was.

Kung Kung was also the committee chairman for the apartment of 20 odd units. People always looked up to him or rather he always volunteered and avail himself for such role. I remembered once in other people's funeral, he was the person whom read out the names of the kin of the decease, as part of the ritual. He was comfortable with chinese classical text and was able to pronounce the chinese characters in hakka.

As you can guess, Kung Kung must be an avid reader. His bed room was stacked with books, so much so that grandma resigned herself to sleep on the mattress in the living room floor. This is only a part of the reason, the other reasons, i guess, was a mild contempt, more so from grandma, after putting up with his idiosyncracies for so long, and also Kung Kung was a drinker. Beer mostly. He would come home quite drunk but also this was the best time to engage him in current affairs or things cerebral as alcohol has a positive effect on his intellect. He would wax lyrical, with his hearty laughter (from this you know he's drunk) and bantering in his clear loud voice.

There was this incident which mom related. Once, Kung Kung came home drunk, he climbed out of the bedroom window and sat on the ledge! In his drunken stupor, perching precariously, piloting an imaginary battle ship firing away and going into battle. It took my uncles awhile to saved him from impending fatal accident. I didn't think much of this "incident" when i first heard of it as i was young then, not until recently when i recalled and having gone through some experiences in life, i began to ask myself what was Kung Kung's feelings and how did he see himself then? Was there some disappointment in his life that manifested in a display of despair, the bravado of "piloting" a battle ship would perhaps gave him some solace?

He never once raise his hands or blow his tops at us broods, me and my cousins, there were three of us then during our sojourn at St. Michaels Road. An avid photographer since young, thanks to his hobby, we have a sizable collection of photographs of scenaries of old Singapore and pictures of relatives in their younger glory. Kung Kung liked to travel, grandma and him would go travelling together, most often to China. During the 80's, he plough a good portion of his savings into building a house and buying stuff for the relatives back in China. It was a typical thing to do then for Sinagporeans whom has roots "back home". Such things, if one is not careful, can become a bottomless pit as demonstrated by Kung Kung's relatives relentless needs and wants for which he tried his best to fulfill. Of course this irks granny no end! Grandma would come back from the trip to China fuming and have no good word about his relatives!

My grandma, a hakka herself, having born in Medan, Indonesia. She was betrothed to Kung Kung, an arrangment between their respective families way back in Tai Pu, China. Grandma is not one to mince her word when infuriated. Otherwise, she's your typical granny, sometimes cutting across as a strict disciplinarian, but mostly showering her concern by offering us food. And a splendid cook. She has a habit of nagging at Kung Kung, sometimes i think Kung Kung purposely went deaf such that he can be free from these exasperating episodes.

A loving couple till the end. When grandma was recuperating in a nursing home from a stroke, Kung Kung would do his best to visit her every day. The journey entailed taking and transferring buses of approximately an hour per trip. Himself not exactly in the best of shape, having gone almost deaf in both ears and was warded before for a minor stroke, which was hastening his dementia, these journeys began to take a toll on him. I think he felt sad on days when he just could not muster the strength to make the trip. He would stay by her side, she would be sitted looking forlorn as if in deep contemplation, both not saying a word, a picture of devotion marred only by her Nasal-Gastric tube. Kung Kung collapsed, hunched over her bed. This would be his last trip to the nursing home.

It was the same old auntie whom visited my Kung Kung at TTSH on that saturday afteroon who called at my parents home (Grandpa's wake was held at a multi-function hall nearby). She enquired about grandma and i told her she doesn't know yet, it's too sudden and nobody knew how to break the news to her and as the days wore on it seemed she will only get to know days after the funeral. It took the conviction of a frail old women to embolden me into action. For we held the same sentiment that granny should be told of Kung Kung's passing. I took up the courage, went to my uncles and brief them on what i was about to do and immediately went to pick up granny at the nursing home. Mom came along. "Ma, ah pa song tien tong leh..." (Pa has gone to heaven in kek) She repeated "song tien tong ah..?" It took a moment for granny to decipher those words... She got to see Kung Kung. For what is love? They have been married a whole life time. The good intention was not to grieve her such that we do not exacerbate her condition then. But my heart tells me the love, companionship and devotion they held for each other far surpassed the material present or what may potentially happen, if so, so be it.

I admire my Kung Kung. His energy, his daring, extroverted disposition, his patience and forebearance, his sense of reality... Though he did not attain fame nor fortune in his life time, i want to tell him that he has led a successful life. His endeavour and labour of a petite bourgeoisie, raising a family of five children and providing them with more than a decent home. Despite his learning, he neglected to find religion. Not an atheist in the strictest sense of the word, it just did not bother him much. The regret is mine for not sharing the gospel.

I decided to visit my grandma on a Sunday morning. And so i made my way first to my parents' home. Found a ripe mango in the fridge, cut it and cart it with me in a tupperware to see my chiea chiea. She was just finishing up her last few spoonfuls of porridge. I wipe the drool from her and wheeled her into her bed. She looked up at me from her wheelchair, starring. I introduced myself. Feeling guilt conscious for not making an effort to visit her more often. She repeated my name, nodded... The nurse advised that i not feed her the mangoes, i cut even smaller pieces and gave her when they were not looking. She enjoyed the mango. "hoe sit, hoe sit" (delicious in kek) and gave me the thumbs up with her toothless grin. During the time i was with her, she kept repeating "Tolong, tolong". Tolong is the malay word for "have mercy", "please help" or "i beg you". It seemed she has acquired a new vocab at the nursing home. Feeding her the bit size juicy mango which she so delightfully savoured, her eyes were smiling into mine as she received the toothpick portion. For a fleeting moment, it seemed she was lucid, the grandma i knew. I felt awkward at once not to let her see my eyes which were on the verge of expressing my emotions. And then she gave me that almost silly grin which brought me back to reality. Sometimes it makes one wonder. Perhaps, maybe they know, but only just to comfort us...?

When i left the nursing home, the noon day sun was doing its job as usual in this part of the earth. As i looked up away from the beating light, i caught a glimpse of the blue sky and those white clouds. This time, there was a gentle breeze, which gave a brief respite.

18 October 2008.