Time flies. Sometimes it feels that way... yet sometimes, time seems to be crawling by. It has been a month since you left. 'Life goes on', yet somehow... It felt like yesterday that I ran into the room, and there you were, sleeping. It felt like yesterday when I touched your forehead- it was still warm. I remember feeling puzzled because they said that you were already gone... but surely, you must be sleeping... and if I stare long and hard enough, the air bag seems to be moving a little.

And tomorrow, we will be holding a mass to mark your death. It's weird to be using that word for the memories are still very much alive. I'm sorry that it took me so long to write this letter to you. I guess I needed time to remember you properly. Those bus rides, the times when I'm alone for a while, I try to remember as much about you as I possibly could... before time does its job of wiping away memories.

I remember a scrawny kid, me, being carried onto your rattan chair. You would rub brandy on my eyebrows while telling me that it would make them darker and longer. There was this tub of royal jelly that you know I love and you would sometimes let me have a small spoonful of it as a treat. Once, you were given a model of a ship made of chocolate- you gave me the sails because I wanted it. I remember being scared after being awakened in the middle of the night with news of po-po's death. That night you, sat up with your arms around me until I eventually fell asleep.

During the dumpling festivals, I could watch you all day cooking the different ingredients and eventually wrapping them into perfect triangles before steaming them. When I got older, I was allowed to help you with them, but somehow, under my clumsy fingers, they would usually disintegrate even before they were cooked... you would sigh while correcting my ugly piece of work.

You had a very fierce side as well. You used to cane me whenever I couldn't finish my rice, for being rude and when I got older, I learned to retaliate. You threw hot water at my cat!?? I hit you when you said a lot of nasty things to me. But... can we not go there? Let's just remember the best of each other.

You moved out to stay with Uncle when I was 17. After that, we only saw each other a few times a year at the most. I was relieved... because by then, we could hardly get along. Then, it became a yearly CNY affair. By then, the animosity disappeared, well... almost.

Then came the days at the hospital. Sad to say, those days were probaby the highlight of our relationship. You would smile at me when you were feeling peaky and couldn't talk, on good days, you would talk a little to me while I massage your fingers, tell you about all the things that I'd treat you to, when you recover. You must recover so that you can eat them. You nod.

Once, I commented that your hair was nice and black and you smiled and told me with pride that you've never dyed your hair before. You told me that I'm pretty... and I stuck out my tongue, pointed to my nose... so BIG, like Jacky Cheung's, and you would laugh. You get excited whenever I remind you that CNY is coming in a few months and that you have to get your hair trimmed and come over to our place for steamboat. Each time I leave the room, I would tell you to recover. Don't go yet, I'm waiting for you to come out and spend all my bonus on food. I knew you would. I wished you were 10 years younger... and maybe, what we wished for could come true, that you would be well for just one day and we could go out together.

You were 84, you passed away on Kor's birthday. And you are missed. A feisty, sharp tongued, sometimes gentle lady with a wonderful smile; the best cook in Margaret Drive; my mah-mah.