On Saturday, my maternal grandaunt (姨婆) passed away at 1am Singapore time at a hospice. She was 92. Today will be the day of her cremation.

When I was back in Singapore in May, I visited her at the old age home where she had been living in for the past seven years. Three months ago she was still relatively healthy for someone so advanced in years. But an infection a few weeks after that visit saw her health decline rapidly, which resulted in days in a hospital and subsequently a move to the hospice where she remained for the last 22 days of her life.

姨婆 was born in 1930 and lived through the Second World War as a teenager. My grandmother was the oldest of 7 children and 姨婆 was #4. My great grandparents had immigrated from China and were working class folks. Singapore in the early part of the 20th century was a backwater village. My grandmother, 姨婆 and their siblings grew up illiterate and spoke only Cantonese.

Life was tough for them during the war. I remember 姨婆 and my grandmother telling me about the cruelty of the Japanese and how hungry they always were during the war. They only had sweet potatoes to eat. They also had their hair cut short to look like young boys in a bid to stop the Japanese capturing them and possibly raping them.

After the war, they went to work at Tiger Brewery doing menial work. My grandmother married my grandfather and had four children. Tragically, my grandfather died of tuberculosis in 1955, leaving four young children aged 2, 4, 6 and 7. 姨婆helped my grandmother raise my mother and her siblings by chipping in with money and helping to care for them. 姨婆 remained single her whole life and never had children of her own. Her siblings, their children and grandchildren, were her family.

姨婆 was a petite woman, standing at about 1.5m at her tallest; her frame became increasingly smaller as she aged. Her left lower leg (or was it right?) had been afflicted with elephantiasis since I have known her. The condition caused her lower limb to swell due to the accumulation of lymph in the area. But she never let that get in her way of moving around. 姨婆 was definitely what I would call a sprightly senior.

As a child, I was around my older Cantonese-speaking elders a lot. As a result, I could understand and speak Cantonese. This ability stood me in good stead when I lived in Hong Kong for seven years. Growing up, I always remembered 姨婆 as the more cheerful and playful elder compared to my grandmother. 姨婆 enjoyed watching Hong Kong Cantonese dramas when indoors. When she was more mobile, she would hop on buses and the MRT (Singapore’s subway system) and explore our little island. She delighted in making use of the pensioners’ discount on public transport. She also loved playing card games with poker cards (my sis and I learnt from her and played it with her). I also remember her always humming little, cheerful tunes.

For many years during Chinese New Year, 姨婆 would make fried spring rolls and also mini spring rolls filled with pork floss. They were so delicious. I also loved the homemade garlic chilli condiment she made for us to accompany our dishes. But she stopped making those once she got too old.

In her life time, 姨婆 managed to travel to Europe (once with my family) and to Australia several times, also with my family. With other relatives and friends, she had gone to New Zealand and Japan, and perhaps other places I’m unaware of. She enjoyed her travels. Her last trip out of Singapore was in 2016 when my mum and her siblings took her to Sydney to visit my uncle who lives here. I was still living in Hong Kong at that time and didn’t join them.

Alzheimers took over her mind in her last few years. She would sound like a broken record, asking the same question and her visitors would provide the same answers. When I saw her during my visits back to Singapore, it would always be “When are you coming back to Singapore? Hong Kong/Australia is not good. Return to Singapore and be with your parents.”

Funnily, when I showed her a picture of A and I during my recent trip and the last time I saw her, she said to me (in Cantonese): “He looks so old and you still want him??” A is 12 years older and looks his age and I look a few years younger than my actual age, so I think the contrast in age might seem more apparent. In any case, she had some humour about her.

I was also comforted by the fact that she recognised me the moment she saw me and called me by my name instantly, despite not having seen me in almost three years. She was heartened by the fact that she was the first person I had visited the moment I arrived back. During one point of our repetitive conversation, I said to her she was fortunate to live to such an old age. To which she replied, no it’s not fortunate and she doesn’t enjoy being alone and unable to move around. She would rather be dead. Which made sense.

I guess 姨婆 made it easy for her nieces and nephews in the end. She left on her own terms and her relatives weren’t forced to make difficult decisions.

Despite 姨婆 being a free thinker, my mum and the other relatives decided to have some simple Buddhist rites to send her off on her final journey. This includes burning a paper house, which actually is a Taoist practice, so it’s a like a hybrid we have adopted.

Her cremation is in four hours at the time of my writing. I’m sorry I can’t be there to see her off. This is one of the hardest things about being away from family. Rest in peace, 姨婆。

安息了，姨婆。一路好走。