A love never forgotten

Around this time last year I was in TO for my grandmother's funeral. I can't even begin to put into words what my grandmother meant to me. I never knew either of my grandfathers, my paternal grandmother is distant but my mom's mom, my pau-pau was everything a grandmother should be.

My earliest memory of my pau-pau was before my family immigrated to Canada. I was young and I used to sleep over at my grandparents house. She and my gung-gung would fold me paper boats, string it together and I would drag it around the apartment behind me. After my grandfather died, she immigrated to Canada too to stay with our family. She was full of love for life and for her family. I always knew that my eldest male cousin was her favourite but she loved all her grandchildren very much. She started to learn English and even gave herself an English name, Amy. Learning some English, she would then buy my sister and I the Western food that we usually prefer to eat like "ta-o" (tacos) and "pitta" (pizza). She valued her independence, I remember once during a snowstorm, she took a bus down to Richmond even though my parents were worried about her slipping and falling on the icy streets.

Her life was filled with color and vitality. She took pleasure in everything, from sharing breakfast with our family dog, Button, to finding a bag that was bright pink and just large enough to hold the newspaper she would get at the local cornerstore every morning. Everyone loved her, her curry and homemade hot sauce was famous and all asked for her recipe. She was a genius with knitting needles and extremely resourceful. And she loved Button, even after she moved to TO, she would ask about Button often.

I've always envied people with extended family who lived nearby, who always had noisy family get togethers. In Vancouver it was just our small family and my grandmother but she was all I needed. When my family moved back to Hong Kong after over a decade in Vancouver, my grandmother moved to TO. I missed her terribly. There were always the summer visits but it wasn't the same anymore. The last time I was with her was a very special time. For the first time in many many years, the whole family, ours and my uncles were together in one city, a family reunion of sorts. That summer, she also taught me how to crochet a scarf and I spent a whole week with a crochet hook under her patient and guiding hands. That was my last memory of her, the shared pride in a finished scarf, ironing it out and then modelling it for the family to see.

This time last year, she was admitted into the hospital with intestinal problems and died in less than 24 hours. It was fast but painless. I remember a phone call in the in the evening where my mom told me Pau-Pau had been admitted into the hospital for surgery and that I should start planning a trip to TO to see her. The very next morning, I got another call from my mom telling me that Pau-Pau was gone. Her death reflected how she lived her life, full to the very last minute.

At the funeral, I look at her in the casket, she looked so peaceful, so beautiful, I couldn't believe she was gone, she's only sleeping. I touched her hand and it was cold, so cold. I couldn't stop crying but when it came time to deliver my eulogy, a calm settled over me. This was my last gift to her as a grandchild, to share my love for my pau-pau to others, to show them who she was and how much she meant to us. My mom gave me Pau-Pau's wedding ring. It's a simple, plain band of gold, the finish dull from 50 years of wear. Inside is engraved my grandmother's name and the date of marriage. I wear it often, sliding it onto my finger, feeling the smoothness and strength of the band. I wear it and remember how it looked on her hand, her hands soft, small but strong, capable of raising her grandkids with infinite love.

Grief never goes away, when you lose someone you love, there is a scar in your heart that remains there forever. Little things like hearing her favourite hymn, a flash of color, the smell of curry brings back multitudes of memories and memories help soften the pain. Memories remind me of the strong woman my Pau-Pau was and memories show me how life should be lived.

hester is...

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coders' code of honour

I found out a friend already has Doom 3, albeit a pirated copy most likely. He invited Chris and I over to view the spankiness of the Doomish game.

M: tell Chris he can come over to see it!
C: I don't want to hear about it!!!
me: why not? it's _Doom 3_!
C: because it's PIIIIIRAAAAATED!!!!!

For those like my clueless-computer-illiterate self all programs, games, computer-related-stuff are just pretty images on a screen that's suppose to come all 'pre-assembled' and dumbified for installation. We're not aware of all the 1s and 0s that people talk about or the amount of programming behind each feature. To me, software companies just pop them out like the proverbial rabbit. Unfortunately I have seen the light or some such since going out with Chris. Just to hear him talk about the aesthetics of a computer program is like hearing an art connoisseur rhapsodize about the beauty of Michaelangelo's Sistine Chapel. Every line has to have perfect indentation, the lengths in perfect alignment, the paragraphs, the code, the flow, this and that.... *tunes out* *what? they don't just copy and paste?!?*

I think the majority of all coders have this ingrained code of honour regarding pirated software. They appreciate all the hardwork put into each program because they've experienced it, the thousands of hours in writing and debugging even though the prices charged by companys are ridiculously overpriced to the rest of us. I always wonder if this sense of integrity extends to other things such as music or movies. Despite the exorbitant prices if you really think about it, the networking of the web reaches millions. A pirated copy could potentially be downloaded by anyone with internet access which translates into huge profit losses even though the software is extremely popular. All this probably trickles back down to the coders who'll suffer in a sort of domino effect. This is not to say if I'm ever faced with the choice of shelling out everything in my wallet for a piece of software vs getting a copy free on the net, that I would make the ethical choice. But after seeing Chris work overtime (and that's unpaid overtime) almost everyday the past 3 months trying to get a game out... I'm still not sure that'll sway my conscience *stare*. Maybe I should try taking a compsci course up at school.

On another note, I finished C.S. Lewis' Till We Have Faces. Excellent reading. It was, as one reader felt, a tale was being told to you instead of you reading a novel. It's basically a retelling of Psyche and Cupid but with a twist that puts the whole myth in an entirely new perspective that one wouldn't think of. It's a book that I finished in a night because I didn't want to break the rhythm of the story. It left me thinking and still thinking about all the imagery and allegory and it's pure genius. Written in the spirit of Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia except in a more sophisticated fashion it is an extremely profound read.