Stranger

Celadon

for all the non-Singaporeans out there:

Ah Kong - Grandfather

Didi - Little brother (a term of affection) or small boy

"Ah Kong, it's too green!" I stare at my palette in dismay. I've got it wrong again. Why can't I get the lovely celadon colour that Ah Kong uses all the time?

"Here, Didi, you just have to add a bit more blue and some white." Ah Kong deftly dabs the colours onto the palette as he names them, and then mixes them in. "See?"

I grin at my grandfather. "Thanks, Ah Kong."

Mum tells me Ah Kong's been painting since he was my age. She grew up reading picture books illustrated by him, and although she loved them, she didn't take after his passion for art. As a result, Ah Kong was desperate to pass on his skills to my sister, and when that failed, me, and fortunately for him, I grew up loving the arts as much as he did. Every night, after I've finished my homework, he brings me into his room, hands me a paintbrush and lets me paint, guiding me as I go. I've grown really close to Ah Kong, and that's why my world turns upside down when they tell me. 

I come home from school one evening, wanting nothing more than to peel off my sweaty clothes and hop into the shower, but Mum sits me down, a grave look on her face. It's about Ah Kong. She asks me to remember all the times Ah Kong was forgetful, when he asked questions that we'd just answered multiple times, when that one time he'd uncharacteristically left an artwork he hadn't finished with dry out and it was ruined. We'd thought it was just the loss of memory that comes hand-in-hand with old age, but Mum says it isn't. There's something wrong with his brain, she says, something that messes with his thought processes. She'd taken him for his annual health checkup, and that's when they'd found out. He's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. I stare blankly at Mum, too shocked to fully understand what she's saying. We have to prepare ourselves, she says, for it will only get worse. 

That night, I go to Ah Kong's room after dinner, as always, and begin to paint. He's unusually quiet and doesn't speak. After a long time, he turns to me.

"Didi, do you think that your Ah Kong has gone mad?"

I shake my head vehemently, and he seems to cheer up, pulling my canvas towards him, and starts giving feedback. And for a while, everything is all right.

As the weeks pass, Mum's words begin to sink in, as Ah Kong becomes more and more forgetful. And one day, Ah Kong stops painting. I continue to paint alone each night, refusing to stop what Ah Kong has started. But one day, Ah Kong comes into the room and watches me. 

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Painting," I reply, bewildered. And that's when it hits me that the person standing in front of me isn't Ah Kong any more, but a stranger, and I begin to cry, tears dripping down onto my work. Ah Kong looks faintly alarmed and awkwardly pats my head as I sob. 

Two more months pass, and I have come to accept that Ah Kong doesn't recognise me anymore, or anyone in our family. A stranger sits in Ah Kong's room all day, staring blankly out of the window, looking at God knows what. I stop painting, unable to bear it any longer, and the easels and palettes begin to collect dust. Mum has to feed him sometimes, and I can see the pain in her eyes as she spoons porridge into the person who was her father. 

The school holidays arrive, and one morning, I am walking past his room on the way to breakfast when he calls out. 

"Xiao Didi!" Small Boy! "Come here."

Startled but overjoyed that he's spoken, I obey. He looks me over thoughtfully.

"What is your name?"

I sigh inwardly as I introduce myself to the man who raised me. Something that could be recognition flickers in his eyes, and I hold my breath, hopeful, but he stares at me confusedly and shakes his head.

"Never mind. Come, I'll show you how to mix colours."

And for the first time in forever, Ah Kong picks up a tube of paint and a paintbrush and talks me through the primary and secondary colours. I listen in awe. Never mind that I learned this when I was four, never mind that his hands are shaking as he moves his brush around. I have never felt happier.

"I'll show you how to mix a favourite colour of mine. I can't remember what it's called, but it's still beautiful."

And I watch, unbelieving, as he mixes blue, yellow and white, and Ah Kong, no longer a stranger, beams as he lifts his palette up for me to see.

Celadon.