The Biscuit Tin Still Empty

From Ah Ma’s kitchen, to the corners of her heart.

Ice Gems

It is still there. The same gold Khong Guan tin, sitting on the kitchen shelf. Through the clear rectangle in front, rows of little sugar crowns stare back —pink, white, green, yellow. Your favourites: ice gems.

I have never moved it. Back then, you would run in from the gate, straight to the kitchen, point at the tin and say, “Ah Ma, ai jiak!” (Ah Ma, I want to eat!) Your small hands would press against the front of the tin, as though touching the biscuits could make them yours faster.

When the Tin Emptied Quickly

“Ah Ma, one more, one more!”

Even when crumbs clung to your shirt. I would scold gently, “Eh, jiak liao ai tng!” (Eat already, must stop!) But I still opened the lid for you. Because truth be told — I loved watching the tin empty.

It meant you were here.

Now, the Tin Stays Full

These days, it stays full. Weeks, sometimes months. The colours stay bright, but no one is here to pick the pinks first, or leave the greens behind.

Still, I buy them when I pass the provision shop. The uncle no longer asks. His nod says enough. He knows the biscuits are more for me now, than for you.

Opening the Tin for Memory’s Sake

Some days, I open it just to smell the sweetness, sugar and biscuit mingling in the air. I imagine your voice calling from the hall, “Ah Ma, wa lai liao!” (Ah Ma, I’m here!)

I can almost hear your footsteps, feel your small fingers fishing for the biggest ones. Then I open my eyes, and it is just me, standing in a quiet kitchen, with a tin that is still full.

The Day You Came Back

Yesterday, you came. No phone in your hand, no rush in your voice.

You sat down, lifted the lid, and without a word, took the pink ones first. Then the white, the yellow — even the greens you never used to like.

And at last, the tin was no longer full. But somehow, my heart was — for while the biscuits may have kept their colours bright,

it was your presence that coloured my days.