What a waste.

I made a mistake.

It wasn't an eighty-thousand dollar wedding banquet I had attended that night. I realised it had cost more.

"Relax, woman. It's not like you should judge anyone, you know. Besides, if they can afford it, why not?"

Yes, Wai Jia. None of us have the right to judge anybody else and maybe they really do have A LOT of money and do A LOT of charity. Relax woman, R-E-L-A-X.

BUT EIGHTY-THOUSAND DOLLARS? That's almost as much money Kitesong raised for the children at the orphanage in Nepal. Here's when I start to hyperventilate- someone pass me a bag, please.

I took Grandpa Zhou to the clinic on Tuesday evening. He was reluctant at first, and asked me, "Aren't you afraid to be seen with me? People will kan suey (look down on) you. Anyway, my feet are less swollen now, see? " I had to tell him I had cancelled a prior appointment for his sake before he packed up his harmonica and money box to leave with me.

"Okay, let's go, " he says.

He walks with a strange gait, limping because of congenital disabilities in his feet.

The doctor's verdict? His feet are swollen because of malnutrution, a lack of protein in his diet. It was a long wait at the clinic. While waiting, we had a long talk about nutrition and finding ways to include protein in his meals- not an easy task considering he doesn't spend more than 2 dollars on himself per day on meals.

"Zhou yeye (Grandpa Zhou), you see, if you save so much money at the expense of your health, you'll spend even more money in future on medical fees!" I try and convince him in mandarin.

He nods, and then says, "But you know, meat is very expensive. Once a week, I buy fish soup for myself. But it's SO EXPENSIVE, you know!" His eyes widen with emotion, "It's THREE-FIFTY! Three dollars and fifty cents! Wah, hen gui hen gui (very costly, very costly)."


Three dollars and fifty cents. What did that mean to me.


"Once a week? Then what do you eat on other days when I don't buy food for you?"

"Oh, this other lady, a lady who attends church also, buys me white bread and coffee. I eat half a loaf per meal. Then at midnight when I reach home, I cook mifen (rice noodles)."

"Mifen with what?" I ask suspiciously.

"Er nothing la. Sometimes a bit of vegetables... or expired canned food I get from passers-by."

At this point, I feel like burying my head in my hands.

I find a mandarin health brochure and tell him about the food pyramid, tell him the importance of including protein in his diet, and explain to him why his feet swell up. The doctor is a very kind lady, and she listens to Grandpa Zhou very, very patiently, even gives me her number so I may look her up at the hospital should the problem recur. She tells me to buy him foot cream for his dry, chapped feet and multi-vitamins.

Two and a half hours later, we leave the clinic. " Wo men jin tian chi hao de!" I tell him Grandpa Zhou enthusiastically- We'll have ourselves a good meal today!

Grandpa Zhou laughs. When I didn't know him, I used to hate him for being so haughty, hate him for making it seem so difficult for me to love him. Now, he laughs all the time. Laughs, because we're all human. Laughs, because if you look deep enough, everyone has a soft and loveable side when they know that they, too, are loved, and not looked down upon.

I carry his dirty, smelly bag out of the clinic. He tells me he picked it up from a dump. He looks at me, blinks, and asks, " Don't those people at the clinic find it weird that you're with someone like me? What did you tell them I was... a beggar you met? What would your parents think?"

I frown, sigh and say, "Zhou yeye, what you just said grieves me a lot ya... I've told you many times before not to call yourself a beggar. Why would I call you that? I told them, you are a friend I met at the train station who is a busker, a PERFORMER. I told them you play the harmonica. And... my dad knows I'm taking you to the doctor's."

He blinks again, and nods. "Ya, I have a license you know. Not everyone can get a license from the Arts Council- you need to have some talent."

"Yes indeed." We both laugh. We walk across the road to the coffeeshop. "And did you hear what the doctor said, no beer okay? Not a drop."

"Ya, but I have 6 cans left at home. I'll finish that up and I promise not to buy anymore."

"No, Grandpa Zhou, NO BEER AT ALL. You keep saying you don't want to spend money. I'd rather you save money on beer and add a dollar to your meal each day. Buy a meal with protein which costs at least 3 dollars, okay? If not, give me the beer and I'll pay you for it."

He quickly retorts, "Nononono, I can't let you do that. You've done so much for me already. I can't let you do that!"

"But my heart will break if you keep them for yourself. Wo de xin hui sui." I add on for dramatic effect- "After all Ive done for you!"

"Okay, okay. I'll give them away. What a waste, what a waste... But for your sake, I'll throw them away."

It takes a lot of effort for me to convince him that bad things need to be destroyed, not given away.

Dinner is a good meal at a nearby coffeeshop. He has not had fried rice for ages and eats the equivalent of what a normal person would eat for two meals.

We go back to the train station. I am about to part with Grandpa Zhou when I remember what we learnt in medical school- that we should always ask our patients to repeat what we've told them. I ask him to repeat to me the 2 things he must do this week. One, to throw the beer away, and two, to include some fish, chicken or pork in his meals daily.

"Throw the beer away," I emphasize this point. "It's not good to give such things away. It'll only encourage somebody else to indulge in bad habits."

I think about the brand-new micro-skirts I had thrown down the chute.

He shakes his head, but finally says, " All right, all right, you've been very good to me... you even call me Grandpa... Okay okay, for your sake, I'll give them away, not buy beer anymore and save that money to buy better meals for myself- just like you said. But... But... I won't throw them away... It's too much of a waste! "

I sigh. We had talked about this at the clinic and he had agreed to throw them away. Now, it was "too much of a waste".

I give in, my body and mind tired from the cold I have caught.

What I would do to buy the 6 cans of beer from him and throw them down the chute, instead of giving someone else an early ticket to the grave, with free coupons to exhange for a hardened liver sickened by cheap alcohol.

"Sigh... Okay, Grandpa Zhou. Save your $5 on beer every week and add a dollar a day to your meals. Buy a meal that costs at least 3 dollars from now on. THREE DOLLARS. "

"Yes... thank you so much..."

My heart is heavy with emotion. My head throbs from the cold I've caught that morning. I walk home in the rain.

An old man who has painful, severely cracked and swollen feet because he can't bear to spend more than 2 dollars on himself a day on meals. An EIGHTY-THOUSAND DOLLAR wedding.

I think about the pretty chandeliers, the middle-aged women suffocating in their corsets, and the shark's fin, ginseng chicken and Chinese dessert which no one finished that night. I think about that, and the look in Grandpa Zhou's eyes when he holds the styrofoam box of food I deliver to him, the way he holds it in his hands like... like gold.

The suffocating surfeit.


"Dad, do you think it's justified if I had an eighty-thousand dollar wedding?"

Dad pauses, then says, " If you can afford it, why not? I won't be paying for it though." He laughs cheekily. "But for you... You want to be a missionary doctor right? So... no, it's not justified. Be consistent. This is the choice you've made, and people will watch your life, see where their donations go to. No, an eighty-thousand dollar wedding wouldnt be justified."


I am walking home in the rain, cold from the chill and the cold I've caught, and hot from the thoughts that pelt down inside my head. What have I done? How long can I sustain this? Can I afford taking care of a stranger I walked by at a train station? Why don't people understand that some things are not considered wasteful to throw away? That it's a real waste to throw away plates and plates of unfinished ginseng chicken, vegetables and shark's fin at an eighty-thousand dollar wedding... ... but not 6 cans of beer.

As the rain falls upon me, everything seems to come together, and I understand why I was disturbed, why I am -still- disturbed. An eighty-thousand dollar wedding is fine, perfectly fine- perhaps even in the eyes of Grandpa Zhou, because after all, the couple can afford it, and they're businesspeople, not missionary doctors... Right?


An eighty-thousand dollar wedding is fine. Just, not for me.