I’m different.
Actually, not entirely different.
I mean, among my family and friends, I do look different in a way. Amma and Appa are both typical Hindu people: with black oily hair that curled like Maggi noodles, dark copper skin with white palms and deep, black eyes, like the dark ‘wok’ in the kitchen. And their bodies, phew! They smell like something gone bad.
I, on the other hand, have very fair skin. So fair that it glowed. My hair is dark brown in colour with a tint of rust on the end. My eyes are aquamarine in colour, and if I were to look in my mirror, I see a Eurasian—a Chinese almost 3 quarterly—girl looking back at me. Even my family photo was a joke, a contradiction, a colour gone wrong.
I’ve existed in this family for as long as I could remember. I was born and bred among dark people, played with kids about the same kind as my family and, boy, do I begin to smell like them! I was put into a Tamil school just like everyone else, I ate the same food like them, I spoke their tongue, I went to the same temple just like everyone else and prayed the same God as they did. Still, the difference was very conspicuous.
“You look different from everyone here,” my classmates once said. “You’re practically the only one fair-skinned in this school! Are you Chinese? Eurasian?”
“I told you, I’m neither Chinese nor Eurasian! I’m a Hindu just like you guys!” Denial was my only weapon against these questions. “For goodness sake, I speak Tamil like you guys, what’s the difference?”
“The difference is you look more like a Chinese than you claim not to be. You don’t even look like your parents!”
That got me bad. Really bad. I used to fly into a rage of denial when they mentioned it during my younger days. Now that I’m nearing my pre-adulthood, this statement sometimes made me think that they somehow have a point. I’m even beginning to realize that I don’t even know who the heck I am!
Asking Amma and Appa would be out of the question. If they have not told me about my true identity—if I have one—and my freak nature among my fellow Hindu friends, there’s no point asking them now. I decided to take things my way, one way or another.
As soon as SPM was all said and done, I started with my plan. I waited until Amma and Appa were really sound asleep before I tiptoed towards the storeroom. Amma is a very sentimental person. She would keep everything in there. Everything reminded her of something. Sometimes we have to persuade her profusely before she’s willing to throw something out or give it away. If everything is in there, there’s got to be something that is linked to me.
After bundles of suitcases, boxes and other stuff that were irrelevant in particular, I finally found something that actually caught my attention. It was a metal box with a combination lock. The box rattled slightly when I shook it, like the sound of rustling paper. I set the box on my lap and fumbled with the combination lock. To be honest, I have a lot of patience to spare. My patience was so unbelievable that sometimes Appa wondered how could I take in everything and not utter a word of anxiety.
Finally the lock clicked open. Happily, I lifted the latch and opened the box. As expected, there were piles upon piles of papers in it. I couldn’t see the words in the dark and the storeroom has just blew a fuse yesterday, so I replaced all the bulk back to where I think they should be, closed the door and smuggled the box into my room.
As I went through the papers while listening to the radio, the truth about me has been revealed one by one. Almost all of my friends’ assumptions were true: that I was adopted by Amma and Appa when I was barely 4 months old, that my birth certificate was altered—my name and my birth date was actually fake—and that my real father who put me up for adoption was an Aussie-Scotlander. My mother was a Chinese.
I wasn’t overwhelmed or anything—somehow I knew this would happen and that I was half-prepared for this. But I couldn’t help having this empty feeling inside which I’ve yet figured out how to fill.
The radio was now playing ‘When Will I See You Again’.
*
I packed my bags and was ready to go. I hugged Amma and Appa goodbye before trotting towards my best friend, Banerji’s Jaguar.
I’ve made up my mind. After studying the papers from that metal box of Truth, I stayed up all night, laying on my bed thinking. I’ve finally come to a decision that if I were to find out the whole truth, I have to track down the source.
My real family.
I copied the address my real family left in the adoption papers and rang up Banerji to tell her about my plan. Of course, I didn’t tell Amma and Appa about it. I had to lie to them that Banerji and I are going on a vacation to Hawaii in order to get them out of my hair. It was actually Banerji herself going with her boyfriend, not me, so lucky for me that she won’t be around town to get caught unaware by my parents. I’ve hid the box in a space up my ceiling with the other stuff that I did not want my parents to know. They’ll never know; the loose tile of the ceiling is too well-hidden.
“Are you sure you’re gonna do this?” Banerji asked me with a concerned look on her face.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve waited years for this.” What a cad. I actually decided that last night.
“What are you gonna do when you see them? I mean, you’re gonna meet your real family, for goodness sake! This is not everyday business, you know!”
“I know that, Baner. Well…actually I don’t really know. I guess…I guess I’ll start with a hug.”
“Oh, how touching! I wish I could be there to see it. It’ll be more memorable than a vacation!” Banerji giggled in ecstasy. Well, I wouldn’t be caught dead embracing my family by you, of course! Your mouth can never resist broadcasting stories about the latest gossip and all!
I can’t help feeling that I’m beginning to have a distaste and an awkwardness towards the Tamil language I’ve been talking for the past 17 years.
*
I stopped in front of the white terrace house. I surveyed the address. Well, I guess this is the right place. I pocketed the address I copied.
Banerji dropped me at the bus station before leaving for the airport. It was a long ride from the station to the place I was heading to. I suspected that it could be somewhere in the interiors at first, but when I got there, I realized that this interior I was heading seemed like it has already developed fairly: the wooden houses replaced by brick houses and the people there were beginning to prefer cars to bicycles and motorbikes.
The gate was open when I got to the house—the house where my real family lived. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before marching towards the front door. Shivering slightly, I rang the doorbell. I’ve never felt so nervous before in my life. I rang it for the second time before someone finally answered the door.
It was a woman, somewhat middle-aged and very beautiful for her age. She had her black hair tied to a bun and was wearing a body-fitting shirt and tights. Her eyes were the most beautiful among all her features. They glow like black pearls under the sun and seemed as if they can see your past, present and future by just a glance.
“Yes? Can I help you?” she asked me in Cantonese. I could only pick up a few words. She’s Chinese alright.
“I’m sorry,” I said sheepishly in English. “I don’t understand Cantonese.”
“Sorry!” she giggled awkwardly and changed her tongue. “Can you understand me now? Who are you looking for?”
“Um…This might sound ridiculous but…I was told that…I’m your daughter. You’re Adeline Chang Ai Nee, right? Your husband—my father—is Kevin Armstrong…right?”
I waited for her response. She stared at me for a very long time. It seemed like eternity for her to take it all in. My incredible patience paid off—her eyes softened as she realized the truth, as if something in her memory triggered her mind and confirmed my questions. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached out to hug me. I hugged her back.
“Ai Swee~! Ai Swee, my baby girl…” she sobbed as she kissed me over and over again, stroking my dark brown hair. I couldn’t help crying too. I hugged her so tight that I wasn’t sure whether I was able to let her go.
After that emotional moment, she ushered me into the house and made me lunch. We talked a lot, mostly about my past. Mother married Dad at a very young age, and at that time, Dad had only started a small business in his coffee shop here, as he was a foreigner. They weren’t too well-off then, and it dawned to them that my 3 brothers and 2 sisters before me were too much a mouth to feed. When Mother was pregnant with me, Dad had made a pain-staking decision to let me go for adoption. It wasn’t easy to coax Mother. She cried and ranted and raved for hours before she finally gave in. finally, when I was born, Mother named me Angelica Armstrong @ Chang Ai Swee and she was allowed to keep me for a few months before letting Dad take me to the adoption agency. That was the last time she had ever laid eyes on me.
“I was so devastated,” she said with a half-sad look on her face. “I almost hated your father for doing this.”
“Don’t be, Mother,” I replied, suddenly feeling very acquainted to call her that. “It’s for the good of the future, both yours and mine.”
“What’s your name now?”
“Kuruvamma,” I replied and, as short as possible, told her about my foster family, about Amma and Appa.
“What do you want me to call you?” she asked tentatively.
“Ai Swee would be nice.”
She smiled. Really, it was the most heartwarming smile I’ve ever seen—like spring radiating from her body. Either it’s the fact that she’s my real mother or it’s because I’ve finally found where I really belong.
After lunch, she rummaged her cupboard and got me about a handful of photo albums. I saw Dad in uniform, handling a coffee shop. Mother informed me that his business has now expanded, which enabled them to live as comfortable as they were. I saw my brothers and sisters. One of them looked almost like me. This has convinced me even more that this is right family I’ve been looking for.
Mother went to make phone calls to Dad and my siblings, while I continued surveying the albums. Mother said that all my siblings have already had their own lives, most of them married, except my 3rd brother, who is still studying. Dad and my siblings told Mother that they’ll arrive home tomorrow at the latest. I couldn’t wait to meet them.
Mother let me have my 2nd sister’s bedroom. I did not mean to pry but I couldn’t help it. I had to at least learn more about my look-a-like sister. She looked very pretty in almost everything she put on. There was one of her pictures in a wedding gown. Her husband wasn’t too bad-looking either. A Sino, I presume, or a Eurasian like her. I couldn’t really tell. But her beauty dominated the frame. She’s gorgeous, like a princess just being crowned a queen. I hope I could be like her someday. It would be lovely.
The next day, Mother woke me up to tell me that Dad has arrived. I didn’t bother to change or brush my teeth. I ran downstairs with my nightgown on and accidentally bumped into him as I was about to reach the living room.
He looked exactly like in the photo—brownish-black hair, aquamarine eyes, a beard and a moustache, chubby but well-built—only older. We stared at each other for 5 long seconds before I slowly whispered sheepishly, “Dad…”
Dad needn’t be called twice. He embraced me with his huge arms and held me there, rocking me as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Ai Swee. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, Dad. I don’t blame you, really.”
After I’ve properly washed and dressed, my siblings have arrived. One by one they embraced me heartwarmingly, calling me “Ai Swee, Ai Swee” over and over again. I slowly tried to get all their names into my mind: Allister Armstrong @ Chang Wei Nan (big brother), Adeline Jr. Armstrong @ Chang Ai Chen (big sister), Avonlea Armstrong @ Chang Ai Tian (2nd sister), Adrian Armstrong @ Chang Wei Chuen (2nd brother) and Anthony Armstrong @ Chang Wei Han. Anthony was quite the odd one out; he had an aquamarine eye on the left and Mother’s black eyes on the other. We chit-chatted for a long time, telling me of the old days before and after I was born, while I shared my side of the story.
I’ve never felt more blissful than this.
Finally I felt like home.
*
Morning has never been more welcoming. I’ve stayed with Mother for 3 days now, and I have this nagging feeling that this is where I was supposed to belong. After much consideration, I’ve made up my mind. I’ve decided to stay. I wasn’t going to leave this family and I never will.
I called back home and explained everything to Amma. When I told her my decision to stay, she howled and sobbed like mad. I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty but I was firm with my decision. I heard Amma crying and telling Appa, between sobs, what I’ve said to her. Appa was silent for a while, then I heard him shouting at the phone as Amma continued sobbing at the background.
“You ungrateful piece of git! You shameless piece of trash! Don’t you think you can get away! Wait till I get my hands on you!”
The phone slammed, and I was left standing there in a daze, listening to the dialing tone. I was speechless. Not only I felt suddenly remote towards my usual Tamil tongue, but towards my foster parents as well. Appa have never scolded me before. Not with foul languages, at least. Hearing what he had said, I suddenly had a feeling of blankness, a somewhat disbelief towards my foster parents’ attitude. I’ve lost all comprehension of which side I was supposed to stand. I’ve lost all meaning of my existence altogether.
The rest of the day went through mechanically. I didn’t tell my family about my phone call to Amma and Appa. I became quite jumpy especially when I hear a car passed by, fearing that it could be Appa. The heavier my gut felt, the more I knew that Amma and Appa were gaining closer and closer towards this house, taking me away.
My worries have come true. Appa’s familiar car horn blared outside the gate. He didn’t wait to be invited in; I heard him pushing the unlocked gate open, stomping towards the house and rapping at the front door loudly. My heart sank. I felt so downcast. My body was telling me to get out of this house and follow Amma and Appa and get it over with, but my heart urged me to stay with Mother and Dad and with my siblings that I’ve only known for 3 days.
Before Dad could react when he answered the door, Appa poured out a long blabber of curses and foul words in Tamil, then switched to English, accusing Mother and Dad of kidnapping me. He pointed an accusing finger at each and every one of my siblings, calling them accomplices of kidnapping. He glared at me with eyes I’ve never seen before in him.
“Kuruvamma, let’s go! Now!” he yelled in Tamil. Amma came in timidly to pack up my suitcase.
I shrank. I hid behind Allister for cover. I didn’t know why I did it. Either it was just a reflex to his sudden unfamiliar outburst or I just didn’t want to leave.
“You dare to disobey me? Do you know much sin you’ll bring upon yourself if you walk out on us?!”
Now he’s putting religion into his orders. I’ve never seen him like this before. I clutched Allister’s sleeve and hid even more. Appa’s nostrils flared as he reached out to grab me. Allister held him back.
“Hey, old man! We know you’ve been taking care of Ai Swee for the past 17 years, and we thank you. But Ai Swee has the right to choose which family she wants to be!”
“Go away! Stay out of this! None of your business!” Appa scolded Allister in his not-so-fluent English, reaching out for me. I rebelled. I wasn’t going to be taken away from my family. Never!
“Please. Come home. Don’t leave us. Come home.”
It was Amma. She had my suitcase in her hand, begging me with those deep, black eyes. I went weak. True, I was grateful to Amma for taking care of me since I was a baby. But she’s not my mother. My real mother is here with me, who bore the pain of giving birth to me. She was the one who gave life to me, more than a thousand deeds than Amma had done. I was so confused. Amma had worked her charm on me. I became undecided.
My whole body limped, allowing me to be led away from the shelter of my brother. I willed myself to stay—I really tried—but my feet just won’t listen to my brain. I could hear Mother sobbing as she begged Amma and Appa not to take me away and my siblings consoling her. I couldn’t think anymore. I could feel my eyes slowly going blank, unable to take the pressure that has suddenly wormed its way into this situation. I felt like a robot, being led mechanically towards the car.
“I’ll see you in court.” I heard Dad said to Appa. Appa snorted as he shoved me into the back seat. As soon as he entered the car, he started scolding and cursing me.
I couldn’t hear a thing. I stared blankly out of the window at my real family. I was torn. I could feel my memory slowly slipping away. I don’t know why and how, but I could feel my memory about everything—my past, my childhood, my name, my life—falling, disappearing, evaporating.
The only thing I can remember was Mother, Dad and my siblings. They gave me life, somehow created me into who I am. Gave me my existence.
But Appa and Amma nurtured me, gave me an identity, lived with me for the past 17 years.
I’m so confused.
Mother. Dad.
Help me. Save me. I’m so confused.
Who am I?
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