What Ah Ma Taught Me That School Never Did

“Ah Ma didn't believe in big, dramatic gestures. She believed in the power of the everyday.”

A Stormy Afternoon  

6-21. The scoreboard glared at me. My opponent had crushed me.  

At nine years old, losing this badly wasn't just defeat, it was humiliation.  

I walked out of the court clutching my badminton racket, the grip slick with sweat, my palms stinging from the match.  

Ah Ma met me outside the court with her old green umbrella, the one with a few small tears.  She didn't ask about the game. She just glanced at the sky saying, "Aiyo, loh hor liao! " (Aiyo, it's raining!) and pulled me close. "Lai ga gun, wa oo ho sua.” (Come nearer, I have an umbrella)

The Uncle Who Needed Warmth  

As we walked out, we saw the old uncle who always sold ice cream outside the school gate. On good days, his bell would be ringing nonstop, kids crowding around his pushcart.  

But today? The usual crowd had vanished with the weather. It was just him, hunched on a stool, wiping his fogged-up glasses, hands shaking slightly from the cold.  

I glanced at Ah Ma, wondering if she'd still let me ask for my favourite cream bread. But her eyes were fixed on the uncle.

She paused and whispered to me, "chio tam poh" (smile a little). Then she reached for her old coin pouch, the one with the stubborn zipper. She pressed her last $5 note into his palm. "Ahia, khah kin khi jiak png." (Older brother, quick, go eat some rice.)  

When he tried to refuse, she waved him off, "Mian kheh khi! (Don't be shy!). 

Not a Lecture, Just a Lesson  

As we walked on, I expected a scolding. Maybe even a sigh. But she didn't say anything about the match. 

After a long while she said, "Bo tak ge lang oo hok khi.." (Not everyone has luck.)  

"Sah hun thian tsuat, tshit hun ka ki phah." (30% heaven decides, 70% you fight.)  

“Ai piah, cia eh yia” (Must fight, then can win.)  ''

Her voice wasn't sharp. It was gentle, she wasn't disappointed, I hadn't failed her. I just hadn't fought hard enough.  

Sharing the Small Things  

Later at home, she split a steamed bun, with the more red bean spilling toward my plate. "Jit lang jit puah kam ching beh sua." (one person one half, kinship won’t fade), she murmured, pressing the fuller half into my hands. "Sim peng hor lu." (The heart side i.e. side with more filling is for you) Her division was never equal but always loving. 

Ah Ma didn't believe in big, dramatic gestures. She believed in the power of the everyday, like sharing food evenly, laying out my uniform before I even woke, cutting the black bits off bananas so I'd eat them. She didn't have to say I love you. She just did it. 

The Fight That Mattered  

Later, when I finally won my first tournament, I understood that school taught me rules and formulas to keep score. 

Ah Ma never went to school. But she taught me more than any classroom ever did. She taught me that true victory comes when you fight hard but never lose your heart.  

Every time I win, whether on the court or in life, I know it’s because Ah Ma taught me well and I’ll never forget. The ice cream uncle's bowed head, quietly grateful; the way Ah Ma's umbrella always leaned toward me; the sweet half of a bun; and "Ai piah, cia eh yia", you must fight to win.