Kai Ling's Tree

1

Kai Ling’s Tree The pink flowers are blooming again. I get the news of the synchronized flowering in the morning and feel a rush of elation, a burst of joy in my heart. I have been waiting for it during the months of cold. When the flowering arrives, it tells time and speaks of warmth. No doubt there will be traditional family triads and large kin-groups making their way to the grove now, armed with picnic baskets filled with celebratory foods and mats for sitting. It will be a day of singing, laughter and contemplative admiration of the pink flowers. I open the door and lift my eyes to the silvery skies, seeing the glint of a shuttle in midtake off. The air is still chill and the scientists have promised that they would continue working on the climate controls. But still the pink flowers promise a time of warm days and intense work in the many micro-gardens. Then it will be shutdown again and we will spend our lives in an anticipatory mood. Wearing a long-sleeved plain blouse and a long green sarong, I walk to the grove. The grove has been there long before I was born, planted by the pioneers and nurtured by their descendents. I walk faster, stirred by longing – one of the pioneers was my ancestor, a horticulturist by the name of Kai Ling. She was my maternal great grandmother with the family name of Kang. One of the trees bears her imprint, a plaque dedicated to her. She was buried under her tree as well. I can already hear the sounds of music and off-key but sincere songs now. Many kingroups have brought their musical instruments: sitar, gamelan and pipa. I can see brightly colored ladies, dressed in their clan finery, dancing under the pink trees, their hands graceful arches.

2 Ah, the pink trees. They are lush and abundant with the pink and white flowers. Their common name is Trumpet Tree. Heralding the advent of the season of warmth. I look at the bottom of the trees – already the flowers are falling, making concentric rings around their mother trunks. Their lives – beautiful and vivid – are still tragically brief. Another silver glint in the sky – another shuttle. It must be one of the temperature-control shuttles, monitoring the situation. Neo-Temasek is not perfect. So is terra-forming Mars. I can see Mars fighting to take back what is Hers day by day. I open the door to whispers of red sand and sand granules every day and listen to the gentle dust storms in the nights. I wonder how the pink trees manage the onslaught though. They are exiles like their human counterparts. Someone has popped a champagne bottle and there is a babble of cheers and some laughter as the bubbly drink is shared in many glass goblets. I smile and wave at my neighbors who offer me plates of sweet kueh – they are delicious! – and red date tea. They have also noticed the falling of the flowers and the temperature-control shuttle. Martha tsk-tsks about lazy scientists but her husband, Tsu, retorts back with a joke that even scientists need their break. I soon bid my farewell and make my way to Kai Ling’s Tree. Kai Ling’s Tree is a little far-off from the rest of her sister trees, a middle-sized tree laden with white trumpet flowers. There is a soft carpet of fallen flowers beneath the branches still heavy with the blooms. I kneel down and clean her plaque with a piece of tissue. Her name has been obscured by soil, probably scattered during one of the automated watering sessions. I remember that this time is also Qing Ming, the time to remember the dead. I have not brought any celebratory or offertory food, only myself. I settle beneath the tree and simply observe the clusters of people happily celebrating away. Their joy is infectious and I find myself smiling. For a moment, I regret choosing the life of a single woman. I would have chosen a life in a triad and even being pregnant and looking after my children would have seemed tempting. Yet the things I have chosen

3 to do, the life paths I have taken, require a solitary existence. The nearest kin I have is Kai Ling’s Tree. I think my maternal great grandmother would understand. She is a scientist. I am only continuing her legacy. There is a soft breeze, carrying with it a hint of Mars – the smell of desert soil and the gritty feel of it. I find sand on my sarong and I dust it away. The breeze stir the flowers and some of them start to fall, like soft white snow -Suddenly the siren shatters everything. It is the dust-storm siren, blaring, unwelcome and insistent. I can hear shouts of dismay. People begin to throw everything back into their baskets, rolling the mats in a hurry. Martian dust storms are deadly, known to scour everything in sight. All our houses are protected against such violence and all we can do is to wait and wait indoors. The breeze becomes a gust and more flowers fall, spinning down from the branches. I look around and pink flowers are raining down on the anxious kin-groups and triads in a silent and poignant cascade. After today’s dust storm and only today (because the pink flowers only bloom once and just for a day), the trees will be bare once more. I make my way amongst the running people. My neighbors. My friends. My colleagues. All around us are the falling flowers, silently spinning, dancing in a voiceless, soundless pirouette. I reach out and grab a handful. I will press them in my scrapbook and remember them just as I remember Kai Ling every year.

4 I can feel the first sand granules hit my skin. Martian dust storms hit fast and sting just as quickly. She is indeed determined to take back what is Hers. I see my door, pity my newly planted vegetable garden for a few seconds and slip indoors, closing the door behind me. The vegetable garden should be able to weather the storm but still my heart aches with a pang of sadness at the harshness of Mars. Around me, doors are being slammed, windows are being shut. The storm is coming. The pink flowers will be gone. I pour myself a cup of hot jasmine tea and find my hands shaking, even after years of living in Neo-Temasek as a rightful citizen. Perhaps, deep inside me, I rue the terra-forming scientists for their efforts. And in some degree, my great grandmother. Should I begrudge their dreams, their visions? They left an old Terra already too bloated with problems. They settled down here and found their roots again. Just like Kai Ling. Just like my clan. I close my eyes but not my heart. All I can think about now is Kai Ling’s Tree.