A 15-year-old Singaporean, Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen, from Raffles Girls'
School, won the top prize in the Commonwealth Essay Competition that
drew 5,300 entries from 52 countries. Her short story focuses on the
conflict in values between an old woman and her independent-minded daughter.

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THE old woman sat in the back seat of the magenta convertible as it
careened down the highway, clutching tightly the plastic bag on her lap,
afraid it might be kidnapped by the wind.

She was not used to such speed. With trembling hands she pulled the seat
belt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with
her calloused fingers. Her daughter had warned her not to dirty it:
'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver
mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand.
'Finance',
'liquidation', 'assets', 'investments'. Her voice was crisp and
important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like
one of those foreign girls
on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old lady
clucked her tongue in disapproval.

'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed
agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured
fingernails
gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.

'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone
shut and hurled it angrily towards the back seat. The mobile phone hit
the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She
calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.

'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretense and switching to
Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of
problems.' The old
lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important.

Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view mirror, wondering what
she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the
same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially
cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.

'Hello Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.'

Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered
her daughter telling her how an English name was very important for
'networking',
Chinese ones being easily forgotten.

'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the Ancient
Relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'

Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to
her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did
not comprehend. 'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss
sticks!'

The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic
bag in defence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It
looked almost
garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman
got out of the back seat and made her unhurried way to the main hall.
Her daughter
stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied
her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.

'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she
said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.

The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick. She
knelt down solemnly and whispered her now-familiar daily prayer to the
gods.

'Thank you, God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these
years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a
young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with
a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or
cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and
handsome angmoh (dialect for Caucasian man).

'Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what
she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything
except happiness.

'I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots
while reaping the harvest of success.

'What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me
a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only
because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be
hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.'

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.

Finally, with her head bowed in reverence, she planted the half-burnt
joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes. She bowed once more.

The old woman had been praying for her daughter for 32 years. When her
abdomen was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that
it was a son.

Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and
adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably a girl.

Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who
could not work or carry the family name.

Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to
her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and
have everything
she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter
would never have to depend on a man.

She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman
that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan;
the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded
respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak,
precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.

She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter
grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely
understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one
who openly defied her, calling her laotu (old-fashioned in Chinese). She
wanted her mother to
be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.

Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why
she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent
prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had
buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity,
bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami
banknotes.

Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so
ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, wealth, access to the best
fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness.

The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When
her daughter leaves the earth, everything she has will count for
nothing. People
would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she
would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt
paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and
prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: that her daughter
be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter
speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry.

Being at the top is not good, the woman thought. There is only one way
to go from there - down. The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic
bag and spread out a packet of beehoon (rice vermicelli) in front of the
altar.

Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain gods. How could
she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to
her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too - idols of wealth,
success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of
her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she
worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter
had would slowly suck the life out of her, and leave her an empty
soulless shell at the altar.

The old lady watched her joss stick. The dull heat had left a teetering
grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern women nowadays,
the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final
time to end her ritual. Modern women nowadays want so
much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.

Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her
daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was
etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was
ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that
would sow the seeds of happiness.

They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove
along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.

'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I
have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The
property market is good now, and we managed to find a buyer willing to
pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a
cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard
Road. Once we move in to our apartment, we plan to get rid of the maid,
so we can have more space to ourselves...'

The old woman nodded knowingly.

Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the
housework and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be
anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and besides
that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought
about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if
you moved to a home. There's one near Hougang, it's a Christian home, a
very nice one.'

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow.

'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful
with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have
time for you, you'd be happier there. You'd be happier there, really.'
Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself.

This time, the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling
tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would
protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep
into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers traced
the white seat.

'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view mirror for her mother.
'Is everything okay?'

What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than
she intended. 'If it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.

'It's for you Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow.
I already got the maid to pack your things,' Elaine said triumphantly,
mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.

'I knew everything would be fine.'

Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her
mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the
only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now.

She had everything a modern woman ever wanted: money, status, career,
love, power and now, freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned
ways to weigh her down - yes, she was free.

Her phone buzzed urgently; she picked it up and read the message, still
beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10-per-cent increase!' Yes, things were
definitely beginning to look up for her...

And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her
handphone screen, the old woman in the back seat became invisible, and
she did not see the tears.