I was wary when I picked out this book at my local library. I was interested to read about Peranakan culture and Singapore in the 50s/60s, but I'm not that fond of reading memoirs. I always feel that the authors come across as self-indulgent to some extent no matter what. However, I was so engrossed in the story that it didn't bother me at all. Maybe it was because the book read mostly like a fictional story. I actually finished the book in about 28 hours, which says a lot. I just couldn't put it down once I started.
The story is about the author and her siblings coping with the care of their mother, who is suffering from Alzheimer's. She weaves into this her mother's story, which is also the story of her childhood. I was really impressed that the author wrote about the poverty of her past so openly. Although my mother, who is probably only a few years younger than the author and also grew up in a kampong, shared little bits of how life was like for her, she always made light of it. For example, mum told us about how she and her siblings would be over the moon if they had a piece of pig's liver to share amongst them. But she never elaborated about how they probably lived in hunger most of the time. My father also grew up in a kampong but I'm so glad that the men of his generation think differently from those of his parents' time. I'm fortunate to be born in my generation.
Both my parents never went on to be as well-educated as the author, but they were educated enough to get work in offices. Growing up, I always wondered why they never tire of their desk jobs. It just seemed so mundane to someone of my generation, whereas we are always chasing after some dream (either because of passion or for the money.) Now I understand that to them, it's already quite an achievement to be able to do such jobs.
I think I shall have to read this book again sometime to savour it more slowly. I read it so quickly this time because the story was too compelling.