I always prayed that God would extend the lives of both my maternal grandparents. Or at least until I’m married and have children of my own. And for that, I am truly grateful—because God granted that wish. Below are my memories of them, and my eulogy that I've written down. 

Lee Ean Teng
28 April 1930 - 16 November 2022

My Kung Kung and I shared a special bond, one that went beyond being simply grandfather and grandchild. We were born in the same Lunar year—the Year of the Horse—and he often reminded me of how similar we were in character. We were both spontaneous, adventurous, and had an unshakeable love for life. He was the kind of person who did first, thought later, loved to laugh, and never turned down a good meal or a spontaneous trip.

Growing up, I spent countless hours at their house. Kung Kung had a knack for sneaking me out, taking me on little adventures. I’ll never forget the times we’d hop on the bus and travel all the way to Island Plaza, just to have our favorite lamb shoulder with mint sauce. We didn’t do it often, but every trip felt like an adventure, and those memories have stayed with me for years.

But it wasn’t just about the food or the trips. It was about the little things that shaped who I am today. My love for music, for instance, I truly believe I owe to him. He would play Celine Dion and Spice Girls concerts on tape, and we’d sit together, singing along, lost in the joy of those moments.

When I was 10, he made me a promise. If I did well on my exams, he’d buy me any cassette I wanted. I scored well, and he kept his word. The cassette he bought me became my treasure. I’d listen to it on repeat, and every time the music played, it felt like a small piece of Kung Kung was with me.

Finding out about his passing while I was miles away from home was gut-wrenching. There’s no way to fully capture the sorrow of being so far when the world you love feels like it’s falling apart. But Kung Kung, I’ll be back on Sunday to see you for the last time.

I can’t say goodbye yet. I’ll carry you with me in every laugh, in every spontaneous adventure, in every song that plays. I’ll make sure your spirit lives on in everything I do, until we meet again.

Wong Bew Koon

6 August 1937 - 24 June 2025 

I actually had the privilege of growing up with all four of my grandparents. Not just two.

And por por… she was the first of them to fall sick — but the last to leave us. That really shows just how strong she was.

I don’t remember this myself, but my mum told me por por took care of me from birth until I turned two.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a special closeness to her… and to kung kung.

Growing up, I followed her everywhere. I’d tag along to the pondok where she hung out with her friends. Maybe that’s where my heart for older folks grew. Just watching her — how she spoke, how she gave, how she laughed — I learned she was a very generous person.

She was also strict and stern… but somehow, I always managed to slip through her fingers.

That’s why, I tear up whenever I think of her.

Her mind was sharp — and her comebacks were always quick and funny.

I still remember how, whenever she tried to call one of us cousins, she’d go through four names before getting to the right one.

“Ah Bit, Ah Dear, Ah Fin, Ah Yen… ah, Ah Wen!(That's me)"

It never failed to make us laugh.

I also have these small, everyday memories that I really treasure.

Like going with her to the mini mart below the apartment. Because of her bad knee, she’d sit on a stool and ask me to grab whatever she needed. And I’d happily squeeze through the aisles to do that. 

There are two things that will always remind me of her:

One is that brown glass bottle of sea coconut cough syrup — which she always had at home.

And the other is Enchanteur talcum powder. That scent… even now, it brings me back to her.

At home, when we watched TV together, I would always sit between her legs. And my mum used to joke that I liked the smell of her sarong. Maybe I did — because to me, that smell meant comfort. It meant por por.

And of course… por por was the best cook.

She used to sell nasi lemak, laksa, and more — though I never got to try those.

But I did get to taste her bak chang and sambal belacan when she was still making and selling them. And honestly… they were the best.

I miss her cooking so much. I think we all do.

I hope I inherited even a little bit of her skill in the kitchen.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned — it’s this:

Treasure your loved ones while you still can.

Spend time with them. Laugh with them. And most importantly, Learn from them.

Because time goes quickly… and we won’t always realise how much they meant to us until they’re gone. 

Thank you for reading! 

Love,
Sheryn