My Grandma Has a Time Machine

Yesterday, I saw mama’s swing.

Then I saw many other things.

I saw 225, Temiang road, mama’s big front porch and her many flower pots arranged like soldiers in formation. I even saw the moss on the bricks on which the flower pots sat.

I saw Sunday morning dim-sums, football on the porch with Leo and bright orange curtains that kept out the sun but could not keep out the hum of Chan Wa’s air-conditioning.

I saw uncle Boon Seong’s Triumph Harrod (I think that’s how it’s spelt but I’m not sure, because I didn’t bother how they spelt it back then.)

I saw the mango tree I would climb. I saw the rambutans that Fiona and I would fight over. I saw the Ciku tree that I didn’t care about.

I saw the big boys that played across the road in Chan Wa’s basketball court, and the drain with lalang and tadpoles. Then I saw my father shooting lalang high into the air.

I saw myself chasing Ah Chien around the big square table.

I saw us running round mama’s round kitchen table.

I saw my old blue pedal car and 4th aunt pushing me down the road.

I saw mum as a tiny figure at the end of the road, home from teaching in school.

I saw Kong-kong’s office with the old easy chair, next to his neat and tidy desk with the old black dial phone that I wasn’t allowed to touch.

Finally, I saw Kong-kong in his prime. But that was another time, another time.