This story won the Commonwealth prize (chosen out of 52,000 entries from 50countries.. It was written by a secondary 3 student in Raffles Institution,Singapore.. It's definitely worth a read...so take your time and enjoy
What the modern woman wants
THE old woman sat in the back seat of the magenta convertible as it careeneddown the highway, clutching tightly the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it mightbe kidnapped by the wind.
She was not used to such speed. With trembling hands she pulled the seat belttighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callousedfingers. Her daughter had warned her not to dirty it: 'Fingerprints show veryclearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobilephone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance','liquidation', 'assets', 'investments'. Her voice was crisp and important andhad an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreigngirls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old ladyclucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimedagitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicuredfingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.
'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut andhurled it angrily towards the back seat. The mobile phone hit the old woman onthe forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up andhanded it to her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretense and switching to Mandarin.'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.' The oldlady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view mirror, wondering what she wasthinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same crypticlook. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune,which broke the awkward silence.
'Hello Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.'
Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered herdaughter telling her how an English name was very important for 'networking',Chinese ones being easily forgotten.
'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the Ancient Relic tothe temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Herdaughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!'
The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag indefence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almostgarish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got outof the back seat and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughterstepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied herlipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.
'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, notbothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick. She knelt downsolemnly and whispered her now-familiar daily prayer to the gods.
'Thank you, God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years.Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman inthis world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maidto help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has beenblessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh (dialect for Caucasianman).
'Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what shesays. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything excepthappiness.
'I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots whilereaping the harvest of success.
'What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a roomin her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because Iaffect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her oldmother. It is my fault.'
The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.
Finally, with her head bowed in reverence, she planted the half-burnt jossstick into an urn of smouldering ashes. She bowed once more.
The old woman had been praying for her daughter for 32 years. When her abdomenwas round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.
Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling andadorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably a girl.
Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who couldnot work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to herwaist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everythingshe ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter wouldnever have to depend on a man.
She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman thatshe, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the abilityto do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the heartsof men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out andmen would listen.
She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow upand drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. Shewatched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her,calling her laotu (old-fashioned in Chinese). She wanted her mother to be'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she hadprayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but thewealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots andnow she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors byonly a string of origami banknotes.
Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral;that of a modern woman. Power, wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, andyet her daughter had not found true happiness.
The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When herdaughter leaves the earth, everything she has will count for nothing. Peoplewould look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would beforgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertiblesand mansions.
The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayersfor her daughter; now she had only one want: that her daughter be happy. Shelooked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, herbrow furrowed with anger and worry.
Being at the top is not good, the woman thought. There is only one way to gofrom there - down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spreadout a packet of beehoon (rice vermicelli) in front of the altar.
Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain gods. How could shepray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? Buther daughter had her own gods too - idols of wealth, success and power that shewas enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest forthe idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All thewants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her, and leave her anempty soulless shell at the altar.
The old lady watched her joss stick. The dull heat had left a teetering greystem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern women nowadays, the old ladysighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end herritual. Modern women nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonderwhy they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughteroutside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on herdaughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soilof her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness.
They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along thehighway, this time not as fast as she had done before.
'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I havebeen talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The propertymarket is good now, and we managed to find a buyer willing to pay seven millionfor it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found aperfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment, we plan to getrid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...'
The old woman nodded knowingly.
Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework andwe can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look afteryou. You will be awfully lonely at home and besides that, the apartment israther small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and wedecided the best thing for you is if you moved to a home. There's one nearHougang, it's a Christian home, a very nice one.'
The old woman did not raise an eyebrow.
'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful withgardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you,you'd be happier there. You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeatedas if to affirm herself.
This time, the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her froma daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat,letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers traced the white seat.
'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view mirror for her mother. 'Iseverything okay?'
What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than sheintended. 'If it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.
'It's for you Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow. Ialready got the maid to pack your things,' Elaine said triumphantly, mentallyticking yet another item off her agenda.
'I knew everything would be fine.'
Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her motherwould make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrancein her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now.
She had everything a modern woman ever wanted: money, status, career, love,power and now, freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weighher down - yes, she was free.
Her phone buzzed urgently; she picked it up and read the message, stillbeaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10-per-cent increase!' Yes, things weredefinitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her handphonescreen, the old woman in the back seat became invisible, and she did not see thetears.
