May You Rest in Peace, Kung Kung. (Maternal Grandpa)

I've learnt that it is too late to talk to my grandpa from a belated phone call to my mother today which I was supposed to ring on the mother's day. I finished my coffee, and memories flooded in. I feel compelled to write a brief piece even an IR exam is coming. 

I tried to put my thoughts in order through cautiously puzzling out multitude fragments of memories into a clear picture. I took pain at recalling the last time we spent time together, and I found no certain answer. I have not seen him for years. Kung Kung was alive in my memories vividly since childhood to perhaps junior years in secondary school. The picture of him selling fruit naturally emerged, as I was told of his pass-away. 

I saw him quite often when I was in primary school. Kung Kung owned a fruit shop in Yuen Long Market. My mother caught a train with me and my brother to Yuen Long twice a month, to store up some groceries that we could not get in the nearby market and to call on my grandparents. My mother, would carry bags of fishes and fruits after a morning shopping and spend a whole afternoon in Kung Kung's fruit shop. 


My brother and I were impatient and inconsiderate, we did not quite relish an idea of spending a day in a tiny fruit store that was sieged by boxes of fruits and volunteering our puffy arms and legs to be stung by a typhoon of flies hovering around. And it was pretty boring as well, that, we did not have much to entertain ourselves, whilst my mother was having a chat with my grandparents on many things that did not concern a ten years old. It was suffocating too as piles of boxes of fruits that were taller than us walled off the breeze. And we were not allowed to hang outside the shop since it was located at the corner of the market facing a very busy road where cars and vans streamed ceaselessly.

Democracy certainly did not apply to kids. Reluctant as we were, We shut up and followed mom. It was a long straight road to the market and the shop was at the very end. I could easily spot my grandfather from afar. Sometimes he was unpacking fruits from boxes, or picking apples for customers, but usually he could see us too. His eyes glittered with happiness, and he waved at us, and said hello in his very corse but delightful voice. His voice was so corse that I often thought he spoke with an air filter in his throat. It also sounded a bit like stepping on gravels. But it was a kind voice. 

He smiled to us and told my mother that, I was either thinner or chubbier, taller or shorter, than the last time he saw me, which was a matter of two weeks time. It appears to be some sort of rituals or codes among the adults that health and height of children are the key to the door of a more serious conversation, I gathered. Whether Kung Kung's observation was an obligatory reminder to me and my brother that a healthy diet is key to good health, or was only a joke with kind and warm concern over us, I know not. These inconsistencies, in hindsight, seems no longer important. My mom would dutifully and light-heartedly report that I did not stick to her diet, and found chocolate and cup noodles a more attractive option than fruits. I grumpily agreed with what she said and sealed my mouth. Parents like to complain about their kids all the time like a switched on radio, which is fair enough, but when they are in front of other adults, they tend to turn up the volume, I thought. And my mom would told us that my little brother and I should eat more chicken to grow stronger and taller. After a reassurance from my mom that we were in reality very thin or fat just as what he pointed out earlier on, Kung Kung would ask: Do you want an apple? An apple a day keeps the doctor away! I shook my head and laughed. My brother would ask: Kung Kung, do you have watermelons, I like watermelon! 

But more often when Kung Kung saw us coming, he would ask if we wanted a can of coke. There was a big, grey fridge with two-stores that hid behind boxes of fruits. It was a treasure to me and my brother. In summer, sitting in a dirty and suffocating market was not quite entertaining. A can of 7-up, which I usually went for, was a heaven refreshment. I usually had only a can, and sat there, idled my time away, and waited for an end of my mom conversation with Kung Kung and the time to go home. My brother would steal a can or two more as my mom was occupied to listen to Kung Kung. And my mom would find out as she rose to feet and left, and saw those empty cans. She then complained a bit. My little brother would laugh and seldom take this at heart. Also, he would put on a big rusty fan for us, and breeze swept my sweat away. Underneath the tables where fruits were scattered and displayed, there were couple of empty boxes bedded with haystack. Home of grandpa' cats, I was told. They were mewing and taking a nap in summer fruit market. I kept an arm length from them, in the fear of being scratched. My brother braved to meddle with them by pulling their tails. They were disturbed and enraged, and mewed back to my brother. Kung Kung turned back and told him off. My brother would pass the bucks to me, and laugh. 

The fruit shop was closed as he retired and sold the place few years ago. Hows' place today? Meat chopping replaced fruits selling. The gentle old man in a grey or white ragged t-shirt, who waved to me and spoiled me a can of 7-up in the noisy market, is no longer there. Among the crowd I wish I waved back. I have no inkling about the fate of those cats. The fruit store was like a island in the market, the owner of that island has gone, but the ocean of crowd that surrounds the island, are still there. If they are the same crowd I know not, but I secretly wish that as I walk into the market again in this summer, I will see an old man waving at me and spoiling me with a can of 7-up. 

Kung Kung, thank you for being in part of my life, regardless how brief your sojourn were. I now grow a habit of having an apple a day, but you are away for good. This is hard to take. Rest in peace. You are deeply missed.