MAYFLOWER PART-II

Written by: Lee Zi Kai, Xavier (24-O2), Chan Kar Teng (24-I2)

Designed by: D S Dhanvin (24-E4)

Mayflower and Mother

As we watched Mother drift to sleep, knowing it would be her last, the pressure in my chest that accompanied me the past few months had finally eased. But a hollowness had also settled. Amidst the conflicting emotions within, I took a quick glance around me. Friends and family had their faces buried in their hands, some crumbled to the ground as their legs gave way under the weight of their emotions. Yet, I stood as though a war had ended.

After Mother’s passing, with no time to waste and no time to grieve, everyone started planning her wake. The days blurred together as the bombardment of phone calls from shock-stricken relatives and a never-ending list of receipts flooded our lives. Through the frantic scramble to prepare for the wake, we navigated the chaos of goodbyes and readied a five-day wake. 

Distant relatives and friends occupied the packed venue on the first day, gathering in one spot to pay respects to the departure of a beloved. The strong aroma of the catered fish curry that filled the air transported me back to my housewarming party. Contagious laughter rippled throughout the room, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere starkly contrasting the hushed tones of the wake. The familiar aroma of spices hung heavy in the air, alluring compliments from all the guests. This made Mother beam with pride, but as quickly as a flicker of a flame, her smile vanished. Her eyes rolled back and a breathless gasp barely escaped her lips before she collapsed on the ground. Time seemed to slow down, the clinking of plates and joyous chatter became a distant echo as the world was gripped by a horrifying silence. A gentle tap on my shoulder brought me back to the present. I stood before the tray of fish curry, a stark reminder of the past. My hand trembled as I reached for a spoonful, with the jarring note of the clattering metal reverberating throughout the hushed venue. 

The wake’s second day saw fewer attendees. It was mostly just our direct family members present, with friends and family coming and going. It was like that when Mother was ill too. She wanted no friends or extended family members visiting her. We often chided her for being cold, but looking back at it now in a different light, I understand. She did not want anyone to pity her weakened state, since she was known for her bubbly personality, her energetic and loud character, and all her colleagues looked up to her as the “embodiment of happiness”. In her state of vulnerability, she did not want to ruin others’ perception of her and, well, I understand now. 

The third day of the wake ended in the blink of an eye. The flow of visitors gradually dwindled, and I remained alone with Mother. I took a hesitant step closer, noticing the peace etched on her face. The wrinkles that lined her forehead and cheeks had softened. A serene smile played on her lips, a sight that ached me. It was a look I had rarely seen on her face. The first and only time I had the chance to see that look was not too long before her last breath, maybe just a week before. That day felt exceptionally different from others. While she laid in bed, she stared out the window and beckoned me closer with a whisper, “Have a sit with me.” We sat in companionable silence, not a dreadful silence; a silent conversation between us, woven from our shared memories and love. I took a lingering glance at her faded cheeks that sheened under the cool moonlight streaking through the window. Her eyelids sealed shut, concealing her worries behind the thin membrane. The cold breeze brushed through whatever remained of her hair, flowing like waves against a sandy shore… Now, she lies motionless in the confines of the casket, retaining that serenity even in her eternal slumber, but even then, a flicker of that same connection remained.

With the toll of the past three days weighing down on me, I stepped into the park near my childhood home. The familiar creaking of the swing set rang in my ear, a welcome reminder of simpler times. I could almost hear myself squealing with excitement as Mother pushed me back and forth on the swing as we watched the sunrise. Back then, the skies were painted in hues of orange and red, reflecting off the vibrancy of the playground equipment. I sat alone on the swing set, now coloured a desaturated red, which mirrored the pink-kissed skies. A wave of nostalgia washed over me. Every rustle of leaves, every crunch of gravel and every chirp of birds only brought on more memories of our time in the park. The flicker of sunlight as the sun crept up over the horizon held the warmth of her presence. Then, the impact of her final whispered words crashed down on me.

“Let’s make this moment a memory.”

A simple phrase, now ingrained with the painful reminder that I wouldn’t get to make any more memories with her. Stepping out of the playground, I cast a final glimpse of the deserted swing set, missing the childish innocence of our childhood mornings. 

On the fifth and final day of the wake, everyone who knew Mother congregated one last time for her final send-off. The traditional procedures stretched on many steps, each one necessary for the goodbye I wasn’t ready for. Yet, as quickly as it began, it ended and the crowd dispersed like scattered leaves in the wind, their lives resuming their usual course. While everyone else carried on, my world had shifted on its axis and left a gaping void in my chest. 

After the wake, I found myself walking past a familiar plant nursery. A striking white colour caught my eye - a potted mayflower, Mother’s favourite. The memory of her raspy voice requesting a single pot of mayflowers beside her bed as her final wish flickered in my mind. The mayflower was a symbol of humility and elegance, values she cherished until the very end. With bated breath, she engraved her last words onto our hearts: “Humility rules Elegance, live your life with humility and you will have no regrets.”  The sight of mayflowers, representing her resilience, became my life vest when I was drowning in the sea of grief, sparking a fragile hope in an overwhelming despair.

Mother, your words, like the delicate roots of the mayflower have anchored me firmly through the storm. The mayflower may be small but it is unrivalled in beauty; it has lived its life close to the ground, but has never once been looked down upon; it stays grounded yet is closer to the sky than as we can ever reach. Mothers and mayflowers, different yet the same. I miss you more than words can express. Even though you can’t be here to celebrate it with me, Happy Mothers’ Day.

Written by: Lee Zi Kai, Xavier (24-O2)

The Mayflower

“My, what a frail body!”

Eyes fixed on the sails above her, she watched as a strong wind blew past the ship, making the pieces of canvas balloon and her hair cover her eyes. She looked down slowly, peering past her fringe to make eye contact with the voice that had spoken to her. It belonged to an elderly woman, her skin wrinkled and littered with dark spots.

”Have you had enough to eat?” the older woman asked again when the little girl before her gave no reply. The girl shrugged— she had always been frail, had always been thin, her skin stretched like a bag containing some bones and barely any flesh. And what a stupid question to ask, anyway. Was there a single person on board the Mayflower that had had enough to eat? She didn’t think so.

The Mayflower was a ship that had promised to take its passengers to foreign land, allowing them to start a new life; live like they couldn’t previously before. She had stepped foot onto the vessel because she craved a fresh start, wanting so badly to escape her life of poverty and suffering which she was born into. Some of her family members called her crazy, saying it was dangerous to set sail in search of a haven that may not exist. Her younger siblings, however, supported her decision through and through, and they would’ve followed her on the ship if it wasn’t for the fact that it had become overcrowded with life— folks were pressed together on the deck, so squished that there wasn’t any space for a single human left. She was thus left alone, solitary in her venture for a better life. 

She was beginning to lose hope that she would ever find it.

They had been sailing for about twenty-something days. She didn’t know for sure, since she had lost count weeks ago. The only indication of how much time had passed were the madmen who had lost their minds being so cramped up in the ship— they muttered the days under their breath, with each passing sunrise and sunset seemingly encouraging their path to insanity. No one knew when they would anchor; when they could finally leave the Mayflower. Everyone was slowly going crazy. She just hoped that some part of her sanity would remain intact by the time they reached land, even if it was only a little bit.

”Well, you take care of yourself, okay?” the old lady said. Her eyes shone with a kind of ruefulness the young girl did not understand. “I’ve never had the privilege of being a mother, but I’m sure your folks would want you to be safe.”

The girl nodded, her dry lips forming a small, polite smile. Her eyes followed the elderly woman as she ventured deeper into the ship, presumably to the stern where it was more stable and easier on her knees. She was about sixty years old, if she had to guess. Old enough to already have grandchildren and maternal in nature. She wondered why she never had kids.

”Not like kids are so great, anyway,” she murmured to herself, turning around so that her back was now pressed against the railing of the ship. Quietly, she observed the mass of people crowded around her— a man dressed in expensive-looking clothing exiting the cabins and immediately pinching his nose from the pungent smell of sweat and sickness in the air; a crew member looking down in shame as his superior chewed him out for letting a map fly out of his hand during a particularly strong gust of wind; a pickpocket rummaging through the measly belongings of a middle-aged woman. “But I guess grown-ups aren’t any better.”

Amongst the sea of adults, her eyes eventually land on a boy standing by the edge of the ship, on the opposite end of the ship. She had seen him before, always in the same spot of the Mayflower. She had never witnessed him talk to anyone else on board the vessel, only ever standing by the ledge and staring across the ocean with dark, bleak eyes.

Studying his features from afar, she came to the realisation that he bore quite a resemblance to her little brothers, making her heart clench with nostalgia. His ruffled hair, pale skin, terrible posture… all of that reminded her of her siblings. And oh, how she missed them.

She wished she could have brought them along with her… She yearned to embrace them once again; to chide them for their habit of getting seconds during mealtime before their sister, the youngest of them all, had even gotten a portion; to laugh at their silly jokes and performances to the point of tears; to fight for their parents’ love and attention; to gather around their mother by the fire and listen to a story from her youth. She missed every part of her old life— both the good and the bad— and wondered if it was worth it to seek out something new. She regretted not spending more time with her family, and wondered if she would regret the decision to leave them when she finally reached ashore. 

But, above it all… she was grateful. She was grateful for all that she had lived through, and was hopeful for the future land that she would live in. She knew what she truly lived for—her family— now all she had to do was survive the Mayflower’s voyage and forge a legacy she knew they could be proud of.

She was going to live, no matter what.

And she was going to live her life to the fullest.

She decided to approach the boy.

“Hey.” She waved at him awkwardly, studying his features. He was about the same age as her, maybe even younger. His fingers gripped onto the railing on the side of the ship tightly, making his skin seem even more ghastly. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze focused on the horizon. The sun had set by then, and the moonlight seemed to shine on her back, casting a shadow over his face.

”Okay, then. How old are you?”

At last, he lifted his eyes from the sea and directed them to her. “Fifteen.”

She had been right. He was two years younger than her.

”Oh. I’m Seventeen. There’s not a lot of other teens here. Wanna be friends?”

His lips curled in disdain. “What’s the point?”

Shrugging, she moved so she was standing directly next to him. “I don’t know, for entertainment? Hasn’t it been boring the past few weeks for you?”

”Oh yeah, it’s been so boring wondering if a hole is going to be punctured into the bottom of the ship and make it sink in my sleep. The knowledge that there’s a possibility we may run out of food and all starve to death before we hit land has been so incredibly drab.”

She made a face. If she ever thought that she was pessimistic, then meeting this boy was an eye-opener. Before she could stop herself from saying something rude and insensitive, she blurted out, “What is your problem?”

“What is my problem? What is the problem with everyone on this ship?! Why do you all act like we are going to hit land soon— like we’re granted survival?” He took in a sharp breath, then exhaled slowly, seemingly trying to force himself to calm down. “Look out at the horizon over there. What do you think when you see it?”

She followed his line of sight and observed the line between the sea and the sky. She saw how the night sky shrouded the body of water in an almost magical, mystical moonlight; how the horizon was akin to the finishing line of a race, its shining ribbon within her reach; how there was an endless possibility of land beyond that line that was just waiting for them to explore. Entranced by her own optimistic thoughts, she answered, “I see hope for a better life. New land, new experiences, new everything.”

He scoffed, “See? That’s where we’re different. When I look out at the horizon, I see the vastness of the ocean. I see how we are in the middle of nowhere, and no matter how long we sail and how much we move, there is always more water than we can cover. I see a boundless prison that we may never escape, and so what is the point of making friends here if we may all just die anyway?”

”Do you want to?” she asked quietly. “Die?”

”It’s better than living on this ship for weeks on end, never knowing when we can finally be free,” he replied firmly. His eyes were hard, his expression unreadable. But he couldn’t fool her.

”But if you really had no hope for survival… then why are you so scared?” She gestured to his hands, which were still grasping onto the railing for dear life. His eyes widened slightly.

”If you were so ready to die,” she continued, “you wouldn’t be holding on so desperately. If you truly desired release, you wouldn’t worry about drowning in your sleep, or about not having enough food to eat. You want to live. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

He faltered, taking a step back away from her, as if she was some kind of witch that had read his mind. But his hands never left the railings. He stammered, “W-why would I be afraid to admit it? That doesn’t… that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it does.” She breathed out slowly, her eyes roaming to the twinkling stars above them and then locking with his. “It’s okay to want to live, you know? It’s okay to want to live because you’ve had a good life and want it to continue being great. It’s okay to want to live because you’ve gone through tough times and want to live to see things get better. Life’s funny that way. Just when you think you hate everything about your current situation, you feel the weird urge to keep pushing on to prove that one day, somehow, you will eventually find peace— that, despite all the challenges fate has thrown your way, you can still find happiness in living.”

Speechless, he simply stared at her, dumbfounded. He took a look around at his surroundings and realised that maybe she was right. The Mayflower’s living conditions were awful— it was overcrowded, sickness was creeping in, food was scarce and he was just so, so lonely— to the point where he felt like he had no choice but to brace himself and pray that they would hit land soon. All he could do was cling onto hope.

Hope.

Isn’t it beautiful how, even in the bleakest of conditions, humans cannot help but to have hope?

Above them, a flock of birds flew past the Mayflower, migrating to the south in search for a warmer climate. The flapping of their wings and their caws resonated across the ocean; the sound seemingly bounced off the humongous body of water and surrounded the ship. The birds, too, sought a better life. They were no different from the occupants of the ship, and it struck him that hope was a natural instinct that consumed both humans and beasts alike. Perhaps it wasn’t food or water or sleep that they needed to survive— perhaps it was simply, hope.

He continued to watch the birds in the sky, and the vast sea that they flew over. 

“You’re right,” he finally said to the girl, breaking their silence. “I want to live.”

Written by: Chan Kar Teng (24-I2)