Crossroads
Mom gave me these two photos to scan for posterity. I then undertook to clean up the photos digitally to enhance it, possibly make it look new.
The photo on the left is of (from left) my maternal grandmother, her mother and MY mom. Three generations of maternal link. The other photo is of my mom, HER mom, HER dad, HIS sister and HIS mother. My Koong-koong (or grandfather) worked for the same British mining company until he retired. And he kept his hairstyle until he passed on.
What set me in a contemplative mood and hence, this posting is the fork in the road that my grand-daddy found shortly after taking the studio photo on the right. HIS parents had decided to return to their village in Guangdong with their young daughter, who was merely months older than their grand-daughter, my MOM. The seniors reckoned they'd have saved enough to live comfortably back in the hinterland, and even contribute financially to the community there. Koong-koong chose to remain in his country of birth, Malaya, with his young family.
Fast forward SIXTY years.....
My mother is a retired teacher whose children were not required to support financially. She made a trip to the village from where her roots originated, with her husband and siblings. The village is served by basic amenities and almost everybody there are farmers. An uncle who went along recalled the awkward feeling that everybody there seemed, and literally looked like family. Later, he was told that almost everybody in the village shared the same family name. There is a dearth of people in their twenties as most have gone seeking better prospects in the cities.
There was a family reunion of sorts at my grand-aunt's abode. Though constructed of brick and mortar, it was of dirt flooring. But these simple folks made certain their distant relations (from the distant, promised land that is Malaysia) were comfortable, slaughtered their best livestock and soon a modest feast was served. Grand-aunt kept praising the Gods for fulfilling a life-long wish: That she would meet her sibling. Though Koong-koong passed away in 1990, to her, the presence of HIS children was representative enough.
It turned out that upon his arrival, great-grand-daddy was The Man in the village. He bankrolled constructions of small, but vital bridges and roads. He was known to be a charitable man with the community's interests at heart. But sadly, as the old adage goes, no good deed goes unpunished. When the communists came into power, he was somehow accused by certain envious quarters to be a corrupt bourgeois citizen. He was tortured and died from his injuries.
His family then languished as farmers. Two generations on, they are still tilling the land for a meagre living.
The uncle mentioned earlier decided to fund the education of his cousins', aged 8 and 12. He concluded that the difference in fortunes was solely due to the stark contrast in education. While Koong-koong's offsprings flourished in the Malaysian education system, his sister and her children were denied learning beyond the basic which was made worse by the Cultural Revolution.
Now, here I am, blogging about this filled with immeasurable gratitude for my Koong-koong for making that particular turn in time. But then, I could have been the dude who started Alibaba.com or mayhaps turned out to be some celebrated dissident writer living in the West. Or a successful farmer. Or buried, after being shot for stealing food.
Conjectures all. We are here, now. Let's cross the bridge, take the turn when we get to it, right? And may God guide and bless whichever path we take, as He has blessed my Koong-koong's.
