A scratchy, tinny melody filled the room. It was a woman’s voice, young and strong, singing not in English, but in the rough, guttural tones of old Teochew.
Ah Ma smiled politely, but Jun Wei saw it—a flicker of distance in her eyes. She was a guest at her own party, listening to a foreign song.
They didn’t finish the English song. Instead, they let the old cassette player loop the Teochew birthday song three times. When it ended, Ah Ma took a deep breath and said, “Jiak png!” (Let’s eat rice.) happy birthday song in teochew
The room went silent. The English song died in their throats.
The lyrics were simple, nothing like the polished English version. It went: “Leh jit gao si, huai sim si… Leh jit gao si, huai sim si… Gung hee leh, gung hee leh… Leh jit gao si, huai sim si…” A scratchy, tinny melody filled the room
Today was her birthday. The family gathered in the stuffy living room, a store-bought cake with too much cream sitting on the plastic tablecloth. Jun Wei’s father cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s sing.”
Instinctively, everyone launched into the familiar English tune: “Happy birthday to you… happy birthday to you…” She was a guest at her own party,
He remembered something then. A few weeks ago, he’d found an old cassette tape in her room, labeled with a date from the 1970s. He’d secretly digitized it. Pulling out his phone, he connected to a small Bluetooth speaker and pressed play.