What the Modern Woman Wants!
The short story you are about to read is written by a 15 year old
girl studying in Raffles, who won the Commonwealth Essay Contest!
In my opinion, she really deserves to win! After reading it, i was
deeply moved by it.. till i cried. In this short story, she
portrays the irony of modern reality. Shows abit of chinese culture
too. It's really amazing that a 15 year old girl actually
understands the society to this extent. Excellent use of dialogue.
Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving
and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially
cruel consequences'.
Really wish to share this story with you guys, so please read on.
^_^
What the Modern Woman Wants
By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen
The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it
careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on
her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used
to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter
but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her
callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it,
'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'
Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver
mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely
understand.
'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was
crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo
sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was
speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.
'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter
exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her
perfectly manicured fingernails 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 toward the backseat.
The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled
soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to
her daughter.
'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching
to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot
of problems.'
The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and
important.
Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering
what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always
carried the same cryptic look.
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 her daughter
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 to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring
to her.
Her daughter 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 in defence.
The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost
garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old
woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the
main hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and
stilettos and reapplied her lipstick 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, not bothering 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 down solemnly 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 in this world could possibly want. She has a big house
with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to
sew or cook.
Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and
handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and
even men listen to what she says.
She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except
happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her
even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of
success.
What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives
me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to
me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want
to be hindered by her old mother. 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 joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.
She bowed once more.
The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two
years. When her stomach was 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 and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but
unmistakably, a girl.
Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby
who could not work or carry the family name.
Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied
to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up
and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she
prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.
She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the
woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman
with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A
woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened
her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would
listen.
She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her
daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she
scarcely understood.
She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who
openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. 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 had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her
persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so
richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless,
with no identity,
bound to the soil of her ancestors by only 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, and yet her daughter had not found true
happiness.
The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less.
When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for
nothing.
People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman,
but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes
of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.
The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes
and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her
daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her
daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and
worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is
only one way to go
from there - down.
The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a
packet of beehoon in front of the altar.
Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How
could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic
to fly to her aid?
But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and
power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her
life.
Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped
counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had
would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty
soulless shell at the altar.
The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a
teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.
Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she
bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman
nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why
they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder.
She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and
frustration was etched on her daughter's face.
An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of
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 the highway, 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 have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big
house.
The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer
willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a
cosier penthouse apartment instead.
We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our
apartment we plan to get rid 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 and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won't
be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home
and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be
space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best
thing for you is if you moved to a Home.
There's one near Hougang-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 with gardens 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 repeated as 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 from a daughter who did not want her anymore.
She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and
her fingers trace the white seat.
'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her
mother.
'Is everything okay?'
What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder
than she intended, '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, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said
triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her
agenda.
'I knew everything would be fine.'
Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of
her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It
seemed the only hindrance in 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 weigh her down...
Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and
read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10%
increase!'
Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her...
And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her
hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible,
and she did not see the tears.
-the end-
