I was in my rebellious teenage years when my grandfather got amnesia. I was young and didn’t know better when it came to family relations. All I remember now is how fierce he would get when I wouldn’t give him the tv remote. I was that naughty.
He passed away many years later, but those last few years was spent bedridden as his health gave way to old age. I watched him from afar as though he was a stranger living in the same house with the rest of my family. I pitied him very much. But I carried with me the fear of infuriating him, from that one deeply ingrained memory of him shouting at me till I spilled tears down my tender innocent cheeks. I kept my distance, even though I was older and technically wiser. I kept telling myself, he no longer recognize me anyway, which wasn’t entirely false. I just hoped that no one I really cared for will have to live through such pain in the final years of their lives.
The grandfather I didn’t know was in fact a very respectable man. He was amongst those who fled China during the World War 2. The boat sailed through the Straits of Malacca. He had the choice to get off at Singapore, Ipoh, or Penang. He chose Ipoh. I will always wonder why he didn’t choose Singapore, we would have a better life now, but that is something I will never know. It was fate I guess, like playing a game of ini-mini-miny-moe. From arrival till he married my grandmother, I don’t quite know the story. But what I do know is that he eventually became a businessman. He imported tea from China, apparently from our ancestry business that produces tea. My dad tells me how he was an honest businessman who doesn’t do business on loans and would never incur a single cent in debt. To think that he purchased all his asset with cash, he could have done so much more if he took a little risk with the bank. That goes onto the ‘what if’ stories in our family.
He remains very respectable in his children’s eyes. I still hear my uncles and dad start sentences with, ‘your grandfather used to say…’ He gave his children a good life, sent almost all them abroad for tertiary education. I’d imagine that must have been difficult to do during those days, which makes him all the more honorable as a father.
But it wasn’t always easy. My dad grew up in a shop lot. He lived upstairs of the shop my grandfather traded tea in. 
Above, the front/customer service section of the shop, with a shelf filled with tea behind me or if u see, in the mirror’s reflection. Murals were the way to advertise products back then. Like painted posters of the newly released movies we can still find in films of the war decade. I’m glad they never painted over it, and the color is still bright and captivating. I wonder if the people of such specialization are still painting murals, and if they’re not, is it possible to get people to restore these sort of art.
The back of the shop area. The stairs against that wall leads upstairs to the bedrooms. I have never been there despite my frequent visits as a child. I never took the trouble to ask for permission to go up. I just know that it’s a massive accumulation of dust, and possibly dead insects and birds that never found their way out. On the left was my grandfather’s office.
(The office space.)
Since I was young, I only knew one person who worked in this place, that is my aunt. The line of desk against the wall have always seemed redundant to me. I imagined that there were more staffs previously, when the business was still in trend and striving. But after so many years, those desks still sit there, idle. I never asked why.
The black wooden boards with golden engraved words on them were gifts from other tradesmen, like a prosperity wish that people have now shrank into the size of a card. 
I never noticed the presence of that door. Another mystery. This is the back of the shop, with an open void for the rain to fall in. The toilet cubicles are on the left (out of the picture). You can take my word for it when I say it meets minimal necessity. I wonder how did such a large family share that toilet, and this space altogether. Life in the past, I’m quite please I live in the present. Then again, my children or grandchildren might just think the same of me in future.
The stories I hear from the rest of my family seems to paint a picture of great man. It’s unfortunate I wasn’t given the opportunity to know him. Sometimes I have doubts if he even liked me, since I don’t have any fond memories of him as a child. Regardless, he deserves my utmost respect. What I have today to live with today is largely due to his contribution on my dad’s life.
