Ah Ma’s steady, tenacious, rough hands hand me a pan masked with a film of oil to soap in the sink, let hot water soak it for an hour, Ah Ma’s mouth says, and the oil easily will come off easier, in the meantime, here are chopsticks, bowls, and cups for you to clean. Ah Ma’s mouth crunches out strings of words while her fingers lurch with a paring knife, cutting up onions, slicing carrots, peeling bitter melons, carving beef from sinew and tendons, scraping leftovers into plastic containers, grinding ginger for the next meal, pulling frozen fish fillet from freezer, her elbow punching door closed before her face turns to me, her index finger jabbing at my nose for not soaping correctly, not holding the sponge properly, not scrubbing as strongly as I should, but now I’m rubbing too hard, too fast, too slow, I should just move over, let her do the pan-cleaning, I should pick up the broom, sweep the hardwood floor in the living room, corners are tricky, pick up hair, balls of dust, bits of torn wrappers that missed the trash bin, don’t forget to mop after sweeping, make sure you mix a spoonful of baking soda and a dollop of detergent, add warm water, swirl the solution, break the clumps, don’t let water drip all over, don’t waste water, don’t stand here, don’t you dare bare anger or tears.
Ah Ma’s eyes are knives, sharp, fierce titanium, they slash through unshared thoughts, dig out hidden feelings, Ah Ma’s mouth hisses, don’t talk back, don’t scoff, don’t sneer, you ungrateful child, you’ll be grateful the day you walk out of this house to your husband’s house, the house you’ll reign as queen because of everything I’ve taught you, you won’t be shaking your face like so, you think I won’t smack your smugness, your smugness won’t earn you a husband, a husband you say you don’t want, you don’t know what you don’t want, you think you know everything, you know nothing, nothing at all, you want to despise me, to hurt me, but I know this, these hands can slap, hit, whack your head like a watermelon, crack it open and beat your stubborn out, remember how I whipped your Ah Ba’s mind into allowing you to go to gwei-lo schools, get your fancy American degree, bring pride not shame to our name, don’t make me regret what these hands did while you were reading gwei-lo books, drinking gwei-lo words like water from a free fountain, letting foreign thinking infiltrate your mind with disrespectful thoughts, forgetting your roots and morphing into a gwei, a ghost, I can’t recognize, these hands were counting pennies and quarters to make dollar bills to pay for everything you’ve cost us, while you were forgetting these hands that washed your head, your hands, your body, your feet, these hands nourished you, wiped your ass, healed your wounds, these eyes that saw you from crying baby to sleepless nights to defiant daughter, this womb of mine bore you for nine months, this flesh of mine tore to let you live, you’re mine to hold and mold, you’ll do best to stand still while I talk.
