Inter-generational communication---lessons from a cruise

The recently concluded December holidays saw a lot of unprecedented things occur in my life --- none of it terribly melodramatic of course. The numerous standardized tests (read: SATs), applications to universities (not to mention the inordinate number of essays we had to write; talk about a break after the ‘A’ levels!), and the far-reaching decisions I had to make having reached the crossroads of my life, were met with apprehension and a myriad of unanswered questions. In the midst of all these, my short holiday on a cruise to Malaysia seemed like a welcome relief to get away from that Gordian tangle of doubts and uncertainties; which it would certainly have been, were it not that it was also the first overseas trip I was to embark on with my grandparents. Of all the series of unprecedented events, this, as trivial as it may seem, was ironically, the one I approached with the most wariness. Simply to speak, grandparents are not the easiest persons to relate to. Couple this to the fact that my sisters and I weren’t terribly close to our grandparents and that my grandfather is a traditionalist, with certain hang-ups with the past, a somewhat narrow and stubborn view of the world which contains only one word --- China (most of his conversations would revolve around the Chinese might and sadly did nothing to enlighten, but rather confounded his audience; most of them after all, did live in a world where China is no longer the “middle kingdom”) --- and a tendency to repeat his words incessantly, there seemed little reason to believe that the trip was going to be anything other than a test of tolerance if put nicely, and an utter disaster if phrased otherwise.

All said however, the trip seemed like a good way to get first-hand account of a teenager’s interaction with her grandparents; it immediately occurred to me that this would be excellent fodder for my article in the TEENSpeak column, adding a dimension of personal experience, and credibility, not to say the least. But before I do begin on my account of the trip, I must append a cautionary note (and disclaimer), that my experience and opinions on my grandparents should be, in no way, fully applicable to other teenagers. After all, if human nature was that simple, I wouldn’t be sitting here with pen and paper, scribbling out this prose on a dreadfully wet and gloomy day.

Interestingly, Susan Long (that probing journalist who provoked an investigation that sparked off the NKF saga, exposing the inadequacies and corruption of certain charities, and once again, trumpeting the increasing relevance of the role of journalist as watch-dog; but I digress) produced a frank and enlightening article on “ageism” in The Straits Times (Oct 22) last year. Ageism, a bias or discrimination against the elderly, is scarily, the most prevalent form of prejudice in Britain. In poignant words, Long warns us of the fears of ageing: “More horrifying than rising health-care costs, aches and sagging, is the sudden, all-encompassing invisibility.” She ends with an honest assessment of this disturbing trend: “Ageism is one prejudice we all have a vested interest to get rid of --- before it gets us.” And while the focus of the article was prejudice in the workplace, ageism also stems from society’s unwillingness to accept and embrace the elderly, a stubbornness that manifests itself in teenagers’ interactions with their grandparents (or rather, lack of it). Thus, I hope I have answered the question of ‘why’ --- why we should care about teenagers not caring enough.

And now, I am ready to begin my account. (The preamble has been a little long, but necessary, and I apologise.) My story unfolds on a December evening (not yet rainy to damp the spirits, thankfully) at the Singapore Cruise Centre. This trip, being only a short 3-day-2-night one, we were travelling light, although human traffic at the embarkation venue was certainly not. Our tempers were slightly flared by the long check-in queues and the ruckus generated by over-exuberant and ebullient children scooting around on those ubiquitous skates/shoes (“we” meaning me and my two other sisters; “we”, of that impatient and selfish generation). Soon enough, our tempers did snap when our grandmother insisted that we drink the water she had obtained from the temple to ensure a safe journey there and back again. Oh, but how could we drink it? For starters, we were of different religions and drinking the water could be deemed as an act of blasphemy against our own God. Secondly, the water contained ashes from burnt paper (for Pete’s sake!) --- how could that be safe to drink? And so, we politely declined, only to incur the wrath of our grandparents who saw our gesture as an act of defiance. Alas, we had sadly, despite all our education, misjudged the situation and overlooked the truth. And the truth? It was that our grandparents were neither subjecting us to their religion nor their practices, only their love and concern. And we, we repaid that act of warmth with hostility and a hurtful rebuttal, thinking that we had at least, left with our faith and health, untroubled. In reality, we had embarked on that cruise, with neither love nor compassion, and having acted in a way that our God, alas, would not have condoned.

Of course, we were not cold-hearted people and we sought to repair the damage we had inflicted for the rest of the day or what remained of it. Yet, beneath the happy banter (possibly the effect of filled stomachs and a light levanter that did much to cool down tempers), dangerous undercurrents swirled ominously --- there remained 2 days and a night, too many hours, if you asked me then, to kill. Back in our rooms, with our grandparents not there to witness, a heated discussion about the next day’s activities between our Mum and us quickly escalated into a fierce argument. The issue: We wanted carte blanche to do whatever we wanted (an entire day just loafing around, sipping chilled drinks under the glorious sun with only the sound of the sea and each other for company, and later in the night, drinks at the Safari-themed pub and good conversation seemed like an excellent plan), but hadn’t counted on our Mum to come in the way of this glorious scheme and insist that we disembark and spend the better part of the day on land, in Kuala Lumpur, with our grandparents. Afraid of incurring the wrath of our grandparents again and powerless against the orders of our Mum, we capitulated, most reluctantly. You notice, that I used the word “capitulated” as it would be used in the context of a war or a battle, and in retrospect, the trip was a battle, not a battle between our will and our grandparents’, but between us and our own conscience.

As expected, the land trip turned out to be a fiasco, not just because we were not willing and happy travelers, but also because the trip in itself was disappointing and mostly spent on travelling to and fro shopping malls, with hardly any shopping in between. For our grandparents, it could hardly have been what they wanted, even though they did request the land trip. In hindsight, I felt ashamed that we, and not they, were the ones doing most of the sulking; it was their legs after all, that were most sore and tired from all that pointless walking.

Up to this point, I may have portrayed my sisters and myself as terribly immature and spoilt young ladies. If I have done so, then I must correct this misrepresentation. In all respects, we were trying our level best to empathise with our grandparents and accept their views even if they were slightly antiquated. And this effort did produce cheerful conversations (which omitted the ‘C’ word --- China), and moments of reprieve in which we were able to glimpse beyond the often-frustrating façade of my grandfather, and see into the crevasses of his soul. In truth, my grandfather, despite his gung-ho manners and go-it-alone ways, was frightened; frightened, because his eyesight was failing (curse those cataracts); frightened, because no one seemed to understand him fully; frightened, because he was old and didn’t want to become invisible. I realised that “doddery and dear” may be the cliché we all want our grandparents to be; sweet withered folks who keep a hidden cache of sweets to hand out to their grandchildren; and later on when they are older, wise and dependable guardians who dispense sagely advice and consolation. Often, however, we overlook the fact that grandparents are humans too, with their idiosyncrasies and insecurities, each one unique in his/her own way. Take my grandfather for instance, his habit of repetition is, I believe, in fact a manifestation of his fears --- repeating so he will be heard and remembered, not ignored and forgotten. And he did bring immense grief to us with his constant enquiries of each staff member on board the ship --- “Ni shi zhong guo ren ma? (Are you a Chinese from China?). To those who responded with the affirmative (ill luck for them), he showered embarrassing and unwarranted praise and pursued relentlessly with annoying questions about their job and even their salary (!). The embarrassment belonged not to him, but us, who wished each time this happened, to remove ourselves quickly from the scene. When contemplating this article however, I wondered if his obsession with China and the Chinese, was not just his way of holding on to his culture and his past (he was after all, a descendent of China and proud of it).

After the trip, when the dust had settled (and the clothes washed), and we had the time to examine what went wrong and what did go right (as I said, the trip wasn’t as bad as it may seem), my younger sister, all of eleven years old, slipped me a piece of paper, with her own thoughts on grandparents in general. I produce it here in full.

"Although sometimes you may want to do your own things when you are with them, remember that they are your grandparents and that you should take care of them. So, just stay with them, and do your things later. Be filial to them. Be patient because old folks may need more time to do certain activities. You must be grateful for your grandparents. They raised your parents who in turn raised you".

In truth, most of us know what is right and what is wrong; but very often, we seek to what we want. Take for instance, my little sister. Her words showed that she knew what was the right thing to do; what was hard, was to do it; even harder, was to do it willingly. And that is the moral of this story. The old adage, “practice makes perfect”, couldn’t be better advice. Learning to accept and embrace our grandparents takes practice and before long enough, we will find ourselves loving them unconditionally, as they do us.

Long after the trip drew to a close, I sit here writing, with a lot of things on my mind (I’m still at that crossroad, mind), but also a smile on my face when I think back to a few weeks ago when my Mum recounted to us how our grandparents had gone to a music shop to demand reimbursement for a tape they had bought but had contained songs they had not liked! Despite the unreasonableness of that act, I have come to accept (maybe not yet embrace) the antediluvian manners of my grandparents and love them for who they are. In closing, I hope the reader will take a similar journey as I have, and arrive at the same conclusion.

Compiled by: Sherlyn; written on: 12.01.06 © Medhospital Foundation