The Last of Her Memories

The rules of Mahjong are simple. You draw a white and green tile and group it into a hand of fourteen tiles. The one hundred forty-four cards are divided into units like circles, characters, and bamboos. Just like life, there are multiple ways to win.

My mother’s last words were, “Never throw away my mahjong.”

So, I kept it. I knew if I kept the cards, my mother’s joyous moments would remain in my memories. Her passion for this game engraved the rules in my brain. Before I was twelve, I didn’t understand why all the Chinese ladies loved gathering around the table to gamble. The idea of gambling never seemed appealing to me. To me, it meant that you were losing your fortune. But now, I was losing my mother.

Yearning to reconnect with my mother’s memories, I opened the case that held my mother’s most prized possession: her Mahjong. I pressed my fingertips through the tiles, feeling each unique carving on the tiles. As I ran my fingers across her mahjong, I noticed a missing tile. I froze because I recalled my mother’s favorite things to say about her precious set:

“Ah Mei, it is important for a Mahjong set to have all the tiles. If there is even one card missing, then you won't be able to play the game,” laughed my mother.

Regaining my thoughts, I ran through my apartment, knocking over books, looking under furniture, and searching every corner. My hope of retrieving the missing tile shattered as I failed to locate the absent tile.

Then, a familiar melody came to me, as if it recognized my feebleness. I collected all my might as I trembled towards the tune. The tune was my last chance to regain the mahjong tile. It is a song by my mother’s favorite singer, Faye Wong.

“Xiang ju li kai dou you shi hou mei you shen me hui yong chui bu Xiu,” sang the song. My mother told me that the lyrics directly translate to, “there are times for meeting and parting; nothing lasts forever.”

I started raiding everything in the room, hoping to retrieve the missing piece finally. That line of the song kept on replaying in my brain as if it were restating my current state. Suddenly, I felt a stream of tears rolling down my hot face. When I realized I would never find the missing piece, my legs shook uncontrollably. Then, a sense of weakness engulfed me. It was because the truth hit me. I had lost my mother, just as I had lost that mahjong piece. I stumbled onto the vintage brown couch that once belonged to my mother, and her contagious laughter with our singing as well.

On the couch was the vinyl record that had the song by Faye Wong. Reconnecting with my past, I lay on the couch pretending that I am lying on my mother’s lap just like before. I started humming the tune like my mother taught me to sing it. The melody made me enter an illusion that her warm arms were still able to stroke my head as I comfortably rested my head on her lap. She would start the song, beautifully singing the first verse, and I would chime in. This all felt so real, as if we were singing the song “Hong Dou” together, as if she were still here with me.