Chapter Fourteen

My grandfather felt helpless, unable to meet the expectations of his children who, like their peers, eagerly anticipated the festive delicacies, decorations, and toys. He had exhausted all efforts as the head of the household to secure funds for his family's Christmas celebration, but all his attempts had been in vain. It was as if he were a drowning man in a pool, desperately awaiting rescue that never came.

My grandmother witnessed her children excitedly discussing how they would savour their plates of rice and stew, and boast about it to their friends. They appeared hungry, and the sight tugged at my grandmother's heart. Their growling stomachs echoed in her ears. No mother could find happiness in seeing her children go hungry.

'Mum, where's the Christmas chicken? You haven't bought it yet,' my father innocently enquired, addressing his mother, who is now my grandmother. 'I've already sharpened the knife to cut its head off.'

'And what about the rice? I can smell the aroma of chicken stew coming from our neighbour's kitchen…but I can't smell anything from ours,' my aunt added.

'Mother, should I accompany you to the market? I want to see how lively the Christmas market will be,' my uncle said hopefully.

My grandmother smiled at her children, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. 'Today, we won't be cooking rice and chicken stew,' she paused, trying to muster the strength to tell her children what they would have for Christmas. 'Instead, we're going to have tea and biscuits,' she revealed, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

'No way!' my father objected. 'What would my friends say if I told them we're having tea and biscuits for Christmas? It sounds embarrassing!'

'It sounds special,' my grandmother gently corrected her children. 'It's special because we're going to have a special kind of tea.'

Curious, my father asked, 'What kind of tea, Mother?'

'Bamboo tea,' my grandmother whispered, unsure if making tea for her family was the right decision. She contemplated asking her friends for rice, but she couldn't bear the thought of gossip spreading in the neighbourhood. Protecting her family's image, especially her husband's pride and dignity, was paramount. So, she decided to make tea and hope for dinner.