The writer (second from right) celebrating his grandmother’s (seated) 86th birthday on Jan 29, 2020 before the outbreak of Covid-19. — VINCENT TEH
Never did humans foresee the arrival of microscopic beings so insidious that the connections painstakingly forged across the world would collapse. Never did mankind imagine their presence could prove so menacing that people would be forced to stand apart from one another.
They carried no weapons, nor did they appear monstrous, yet they drove humanity helter-skelter into hiding – retreating behind doors, fearful of their invisible contagion.
This is my short reflection of the unprecedented incident in 2020 – the outbreak of Covid-19.
The epidemic left many Malaysians in Singapore – myself among them – unable to return home.
Crossing the Johor-Singapore Causeway became impossible – I was stuck on the island. Who would have foreseen that?
In 2021, the unthinkable happened – my maternal grandmother, or rather, Ah Po, passed away peacefully without any warning sign of illness around two weeks before Chinese New Year. I could not go home to pay my last respect, but thankfully, I could do it virtually through a video call with my mother.
As a result of Ah Po’s passing and the border restriction imposed on the two neighbouring countries, that was my first year of not being able to go home, have a reunion dinner with my family and celebrate Chinese New Year.
The border restriction was progressively lifted through the Vaccinated Travel Lane (VTL) scheme by the end of 2021, but due to the overwhelming demand for Causeway Link bus tickets and flight tickets, 2022 was my second year for not being able to celebrate Chinese New Year Eve and the new year with my family; but gratefully I still managed to go home on the second day of Chinese New Year. I can still remember the irresistible excitement when I was on my way to Changi Airport, listening to the oldie, 500 Miles Away From Home, that resonated deeply with me.
After I touched down at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA) and had gone through the arduous procedure of a swab test, I finally met my mother and youngest brother, whom I had not seen for two years!
They had driven all the way from my hometown for almost two hours to pick me up at the airport.
I got into the back seat of the car while my mother got into the front seat. Under the streaks of sunlight through the car’s window, I could clearly see the wrinkles on her hand – she had aged so much over the past two years. That was the first moment I was struck by mixed feelings.
I was fortunate that my empathetic manager allowed me to work remotely from Malaysia for a month. Returning to my hometown, I cherished every moment spent with my family while continuing my work.
One drizzling night, my mother and I went to visit my maternal uncle and his wife, who stayed a stone’s throw away from us. Ah Po had been staying with them before she died. My aunt organised a mini “Lou Sang” (prosperity toss) party to spice up our visit. She prepared a big plate of fruit Lou Sang that we then tossed for great fortune.
After we finished the Lou Sang party and were about to leave, my aunt and mother talked about Ah Po’s possession in her bedroom, so she led us to her room.
When my aunt opened the door, it was a dark room with an empty bed, a wardrobe and some of her possessions. That was the second moment I was struck by mixed emotions.
Over the years before Covid-19, I would pay Ah Po a visit whenever I came home from Singapore. Every Chinese New Year, all her seven children’s families would gather and celebrate her birthday on the fifth day of the lunar new year. It was a big and merry celebration that we never missed.
The last one we did was her 86th birthday celebration on Jan 29, 2020 before the outbreak of Covid-19.
Two years after the epidemic broke out, what remained was the dark room, empty bed, wardrobe, her possessions, her eternal absence and fond memories.
