Anything you wish, Jellyfish

The many floral printed blouses are what her contemporaries are wearing this age. Some vibrant, others more staid but surely they are the same small blooms on the cooling fabric. As she lifts her umbrella from the stand, we happen to see that the weather is perfect. But her accessories always match and today it is burberry brown to match the sunnies perched on her nose. She is off to sell her remaining pieces of jade to the world of platinum and princess-cut diamonds for the newly-weds. But this jaded housewife takes her time with her motions. The slow abandonment takes the flurry of the morning crowd by surprise and the red sea parts for her.

The outing has been a tad too strenuous for her. She rails at me to put the clothes out to sun; to bring in the clothes lest it rains; to stop the rain from falling- Loose soft skin that hangs in unlikely fashion is far removed from the supple, lithe form of our sun-kissed youth. No massage can bring back its tone. But every touch sends warmth coursing down her veins and tugs the edges of her mouth, like tugging the sun from behind the clouds. We feel impatient at her helplessness, intensified by all that gerontology 203 cannot teach.

Her gaze on me is disconcerting but I know that I’m mere form without features. Like television you watch without glasses. She calls me loudly to hear the direction and distance of my voice, only to catch the sound of my irritation. This is the same heartbeat that bounces from the walls in echo, “Anything you wish, Jellyfish.”

Long overdue tribute to grandma Tan Joo Tian. - Louise Tay '06