:: élan ::

To my Marlboro Man,

I miss you. I miss the way you sit in your favourite chair, your eyes twinkling with amusement as your grandchildren race cars, fight over the remote control and yell out the senseless gems only kids are capable of. I miss how you lean over the parapet wall, dragging on your cigarette as you recount your childhood. I miss your bickering with Po Po. I miss you buying king prawns for Chinese New Year. I miss your affectionate disdain with us. I miss your voice. I miss serving you dinner. I miss you.

***

But I know he lives on. I see him when my uncle smiles. I sense his strength in my mother. I know his humour when my aunt makes me laugh. I remember his influence from his wisdom. I'm reminded of his kindness while chatting with the old neighbours. And my grandmother. She speaks of him as though he's still around. And for her―after 50 years of marriage―he must still be there with her somehow.

When you showed me your wedding photo for the first time―you were a blushing bride, a few months shy of your twentieth birthday, and he was dashing but out-of-place in a Western suit―I remember thinking, I want that too.

Fuck modern romance and all the commercialised claptrap. At the end of the day, do you really want that Prince Charming (read: white-collar worker) on his proverbial white horse (read: a Beemer) to rescue you from your ivory tower (read: HDB) so that you may live happily ever after in his castle (read: landed property―or at least a condo)?

Or could you―despite the hyper-realities of Hollywood streaming into our livingrooms and our consciousness―settle for a steaming cup of black coffee (he got it for you because of your bad knee and you can't make that ten-minute walk to the market anymore) every morning as a silent testament to a love that never knew Pretty Woman?

The luckiest day of my life was the day my grandparents got married. And the best day of my life was when my grandfather―shortly before the morphine haze clouded his mind to pacify his cancer-ridden body―told me he was proud to have me as his grandchild.

***

So you won't be around this Chinese New Year. Don't worry―I'll go to Chinatown to get the king prawns on your behalf. I'll remember not to make the abalone sauce too salty. I'll make sure the kids get their bah kwa. I don't have your voice―I can't shout to round up the whole family for reunion dinner―but you know I'll try.