I believe in speaking up for the things you strongly believe in.
One of my fondest memories from my childhood was convincing my Popo (grandmother in Mandarin) to walk with me up and down a steep hill just to grab my favourite bag of biscuits from the nearby supermarket. On hindsight, the walk was not the easiest of walks especially for someone in her late-70s, but she never once complained. She simply held out her hand and helped me put on my shoes.
That was the kind of woman my grandmother was, strong yet gentle.
Popo used to work on a rubber plantation in Malaysia when she was younger. Growing up, I had heard countless stories about how she worked herself to the bone and about how the whole family relied on her as the sole breadwinner. Work was tough, yet Popo being Popo, she never missed a day of work.
That was the kind of woman she was, tough and determined.
That was her, but what kind of girl was I?
I was the girl that rarely had her hand up when teachers asked a question. I much preferred staying out of potential trouble and was painfully shy around strangers and people in authority. I also loved to read. I read so much that my mother had threatened to take away my books because I was too distracted to eat my meals. It was in these books that I experienced what it was like to be brave and saw heroes stand up for causes that they felt for. It was such a sharp contrast between who I was and who I wanted to be.
But life works in mysterious ways. My grandmother fell critically ill a few years after I entered primary school. I spent my school holidays in Malaysia, in and out of the hospital. It was strange being so young and seeing someone so strong be so frail. It was difficult to comprehend what was really happening. The adults seemed to be whispering words like “aged-care facilities” and “nursing home”. It was all a bit too overwhelming and I was so confused.
I sat by her bedside and held her hand. The same hand that I held as a toddler. And deep down I knew.
It was wrong. Popo said that she wanted to go home, where she could be cared for by those that loved and cared for her. No strangers hovering around her bed, no compromises in the quality of care should be allowed. She gave everything for this family and we were going to do the same. Suddenly, I felt this rush of emotions well up within me. Sure, I was the youngest member of my extended family but I too, should have a say in this matter.
“I think we should not send her away.” No one heard me. I said it once more, louder and with more conviction.
Everyone turned their heads and stared at me with their eyes wide open. I began to explain in a small voice how much she had sacrificed for us and that it was wrong to send her away. Suddenly, I began to see my uncles and aunties nodding in agreement. My parents were sat in the corner with a small smile on their faces.
And so, it was decided – Popo goes home.
This moment in my life turned out to be a significant one. I knew that although I may not always be the loudest or most knowledgeable person in a room, but I could always, and should always speak up for the things I believed in. Because you may never know how your voice, no matter how small, could change the world.