Everyone knows my grandfather as “brother four” (sei go). He is one of 11 children, and with so many in tow, they are all simply known by their birth order. In Chinese culture, four is unlucky as it sounds like the word “death” in Cantonese. But my grandfather is far from unlucky.
He was born in Guangzhou, China, in 1921. Unlike sisters one and two, he survived infancy and went on to finish primary school. His high school years, however, were interrupted by the start of World War II. His family fled south to Hong Kong and they started a new life in the British colony. My grandfather, aged 16, enrolled into military school and later went into service.
His squad was stationed in India and southwest China. He drove tanks, smoked cigarettes and waited for the call to the front line – but the call never came.
After eight years, he returned to Hong Kong to a family that didn’t really expect to see him again. Brother seven, who was a few years younger, went north to study. He had not gone to war. But he never came home.
He drove tanks, smoked cigarettes and waited for the call to the front line but the call never came
Once my grandfather got back, his mother was eager to find him a wife. As luck would have it, there was a girl who lived across the road (my grandmother). They married in 1950 and in the following year, they had a son (my dad), followed by three more children.
Over the next three decades, my grandfather worked as a bus driver before joining a sanitary wares company. As a junior salesman, he sold bathroom and kitchen fixtures. He worked there for 30 years before he retired as managing director.
He was 60 years old. In that same year, he became a grandfather. I was the first of seven grandchildren.
As a father, he was the breadwinner, playing a less active role in child rearing. As a grandfather, he was more hands-on. He remembers helping my parents, holding me all night as a baby as I was a poor sleeper. Later, he recalls ferrying me and my sister to and from school.
As a father, he was the breadwinner, playing a less active role in child rearing. As a grandfather, he was more hands-on
Life was disrupted again in the late 1980s when my grandparents watched many of their friends and family leave Hong Kong, in fear of the uncertainty and potential unrest that might occur when Hong Kong would return to China in 1997.
At the time, my granddad (aged 67), along with my grandmother, decided to leave everything they knew for Australia, a foreign country where they did not speak the language.
They lived in sunny Sydney for two decades, making the most of the free English classes at the community centre and living on a big block of land with a swimming pool.
Two of his children joined him in Australia. My aunty moved to Sydney. My dad, mum, sister and I moved to Melbourne. We went to Sydney every school holiday, where my grandfather would drive us to Manly Beach, the fish market and the Powerhouse Museum.
With a heavy heart, they returned to Hong Kong for their final years. At 95, his last visit to Australia was for my wedding. He celebrated his 100th birthday in a global pandemic
When my grandfather lost his driver’s licence as an octogenarian, they needed a new plan. My grandmother did not drive so they could no longer get around easily. With a heavy heart, they returned to Hong Kong for their final years. At 95, his last visit to Australia was for my wedding.
He celebrated his 100th birthday in a global pandemic.
In the same year, his great grandson (my son) was born in Melbourne. Melbourne was in its sixth lockdown. There was a curfew and a five-kilometre radius limit on movement.
During virtual birth class, all the questions were COVID-related. What happens if there is an outbreak? Who can be in the delivery room? Do I have to wear a mask during labour? In the end, my son arrived in dramatic circumstances. He was born premature, via an emergency caesarean as the pregnancy was shutting down my liver and kidneys. After surgery, I went to ICU. My partner was sent home. My son spent two nights in NICU before being reunited with us. Together, we spent a further five nights in hospital. On day eight, we were discharged.
Our world was small. My son stayed at home with me, his dad and three-year-old sister. I recovered while taking small steps around the neighbourhood, using the pram as a walking aid. Masked friends and family left meals at the door.
When the city opened up, the first post-lockdown flu season came. For months, my son was ill, fighting off one virus only to contract another. It was my turn to hold him all night, the way my grandfather cradled me to sleep when I was a wakeful baby.
When Hong Kong announced the end of mandatory quarantine for visitors, the cost of flights increased threefold. Some rules remained such as compulsory PCR and RAT tests, and isolation orders (in a hotel with a baby) if positive. The threat of catching and passing on COVID (and everything else) to my elderly grandparents was a real possibility.
But I booked flights anyway, taking the necessary precautions in the lead-up to our trip.
On the day of travel, my son was well. We landed in Hong Kong on Christmas Eve. I introduced him to his great grandfather (tai gung). My grandfather beamed with pride and joy. My son was shy but curious.
As a centenarian, my grandfather is often asked the secret to longevity. He says it’s genes and luck. But I think it’s more than that. I think it’s his adaptability, positivity and work ethic that has allowed him to find fortune despite life’s setbacks. I hope that my son inherits these traits so that he, too, can live his life to the fullest, whatever the next 100 years may bring.
