Letter 18. I found a little gem of a memory with just you and me.
Dear Mok,
Do you remember that time when we you visited us in Sungai Petani? I must have been 12 or 13. It's one of the few times I remember being with you anywhere other than at your house. I had found a small block of wood, about 6" long, 3" wide and maybe 1" thick, in Abah’s workshop and I wanted to carve something into it as a present for Mama, I think. I was diligently smoothing it with a piece of sandpaper on the front porch when you came by to see what I was up to and stayed to watch. And then Abah saw us and asked the same question and I told him, "I'm going to carve it."
"Oh, I don't think you can do that!" Abah said.
"Why not?" I asked.
He explained that the piece of wood in my hand wasn't meant for carving; it would be too hard and the grains are too coarse. I'll just be hurting my hands.
"Oh," I said, feeling at once dumb and disappointed. Abah must have felt bad for having to quash my budding creation.
You, on the other hand, kept up a cheery stream of chatter complimenting me for being smart and imaginative and creative and daring to try something even though I didn't know what I was doing and how that makes me unique and good and different from everyone else. It was a brief moment—Abah telling me the bad news, me feeling crushed, you jumping in with your compliments—but I remember thinking how disjointed your words were from what was going on. You kept saying something like, “Yes but she’s so creative! She just went ahead and tried anyway!”
I didn’t make sense to me then, but now I wonder if maybe you saw how crushing that moment was on my little maker spirit and your maternal instinct was to try and soften the blow. I know you're no stranger to carpentry and woodwork, having built and fixed everything around your house with nothing more than your trusty old ax. Or maybe you really were just simply marvelling at my creativity and ingenuity and adventurous spirit.