Friday, October 22, 2004 ' 11:25 PM Y
& your soul is all i ever wanted
Essay (Section B- continuous writing)
Trengganu trial paper, Question 2(e)
Write a story beginning with : "Is that really you? Where have you been all these years?"
"Is that really you? Where have you been all these years?" Tears streamed down an old wrinkled face as a feeble pair of hands reached out to cup a young fresh face. Two brown eyes, sparkling like stars in a sun tanned face, lined with memories and times long forgotten crinkled in happiness as they focused onto the features of a young girl, on the brink of adulthood. And I gazed back, fighting back the tears and swallowing the lump in my throat as I savoured the gentle touch of my grandfather's hands on my head, as they stroked my hair in long, steady strokes, and for a brief moment, was transported back to my childhood days. A time when I was young, innocent, and without a care or worry in the entire world.
"Oh, look! Pretty butterfly!" A laughing child scampered around in a lush garden of flowers, any child's eden. A pair of tiny hands stretched out, in a bid to capture the tiny fluttering object when a pair of strong arms suddenly enfolded the small body. "No, Christine. You don't catch butterflies," my grandfather gently admonished me. "Why not?" I asked planitively, my desire to feel the fluttering wings in my hands unfulfilled. "Honey, you would hurt the poor butterfly. Its wings are covered in hundreds of tiny sensetive scales, and touching these scales hurt the butterfly. Now you don't want to do that do you?" My small eyes widened. "No, of course not!" "Thats my girl." And with that, my grandfather swept me off my feet and placed me on his broad shoulders, my favourite way of being carried. From my perch so high above, I could see the whole world.
A dry cough jolted me back to reality. Immediately, I reached for the flask of hot water which stood on the table beside the hospital bed. I carefully poured some into a cup and offered it to my grandfather. As I gently guided his trembling hands to his lips, I felt a pang. It seemed as if only yesterday, I had waved goodbye to my family as I walked into the airport, to board the plane which would carry me thousands of miles away from them, to Washington D.C. Homesickness was just a price I had to pay for the sake of my education. Or so I had thought when I was making my desicion. Now, it seemed there was a higher price to pay. After five years apart, seeing my beloved grandfather, whom I had always envisioned as a pillar of strength succumb to Alzehimers came as a big shock. Thankfully, I had returned just after the diagnosis had been confirmed by doctors. But nonetheless, my heart ached as I watched my grandfather, no longer able to look after himself, dependant on others, the independance he had held on so fiercely to that I always associated to him since childhood gone.
I choked back my tears, not wanting my grandfather to notice them. But somehow, as always, he did. "Shh, shh," he hushed me. "It's all part of life, Christine, You have to accept that. People grow old, the get sick, and they die. It's all part of nature. Now dry your eyes, and tell me all about your years in America. You've been away for so long I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me, hardly ever writing or calling home," my grandfather adviced and teased me alternately. Like an obedient child, I did exactly what my grandfather told me. I had always done so, a mark of the eastern concept of filial piety that had been ingrained into me since childhood.
It has been three years since that day I visited my grandfather in his house. Sixteen months ago, I moved in to stay with my grandfather. The financial problems our economy was facing caused my to lose my job, and it was a blessing in disguise. I had time to spend with my grandfather, a precious commodity I had lost when I started schooling. Like a thirsty desert flower, I soaked up the refreshing rainfall of wisdom from my grandfather. Words I will never hear again. My grandfather, the only one I'd ever known, passed away two months ago. I'll never hear his soft voice again, nor will he ever smile at me with all the pride in the world reflected in his eyes. Nor shall I taste his delicious vegetarian dishes or ever hug him close again. But, I have his legacy of stories and wisdom, and perhaps, one day, I will have the oppourtunity to record them all down in a book, for all of mankind to savour, the essence and depth of an ordinary man, with an extraordinary amount of love to give to all.
