Four Letters From Adam Liaw: To My Grandmother, My Mother, My Wife, And Her Daughter

On Sunday October 19, the fourth annual ‘Men of Letters‘ event takes place at The Basement in Sydney. This year, iconic artist Ken Done, hip hop raconteur Buck 65, Greens Senator Scott Ludlam, TV host Andrew O’Keefe, spoken word poet Omar Musa, Sydney Swans champ Brett Kirk, Ian ‘Dicko’ Dickson and more will be reading a letter they wrote to ‘The Woman Who Changed My Life’.

To get you in the mood, the team behind the event — which you know more regularly as the gender-flipped Women of Letters — offered up a highlight from last year’s event: a series of letters from chef, writer and TV host Adam Liaw.

–

To my grandmother,

Ahpor. I have called you that all my life and now, at the age of 34, I can finally tell you that I have no earthly idea what it means. My suspicion, of course, is that it means “grandmother”, but if it does I’m not even sure what language that is.

You grew up in a place and time so different from mine that it is hard to imagine us having anything in common at all. And let’s be honest, other than a shared appreciation of the acrobatic slapstick of a young Jackie Chan, we really don’t.

When you were 15 you were married and pregnant with your first child. When I was 15 I was studying for my final exams at school. I should note here that school was that thing that I did too much of and that you hardly did at all, and yet you still read and write seven languages, where I can confidently speak only one, and know slang terms for genitals in just a handful of others.

When you were 19, your sister was shot and killed by a policeman on suspicion of being a communist sympathiser. When I was 19, communist sympathisers sold me copies of Green Left on the university lawns.

By the time you were 21, you’d had three children and lost a husband, and for the past 60 years, you’ve asked your own children to call you ‘Aunty’ rather than ‘Mother’, because you believed a fool of a fortune-teller who once told you your life was cursed, and that having your children never acknowledge you as their mother would save them from your fate.

I remember watching you cry when you lost your son, my uncle. You were 75 and he was 60, and your sadness grew from a belief that your curse had followed you for five decades across the seas of the world, to strike down your first-born.

What kind of curse is it that causes a single mother – an impoverished and uneducated washerwoman – to fight to send every one of her children to university, so that they may become doctors, scientists and successful businessmen? Does the same curse see that woman’s grandchildren become surgeons, lawyers, engineers and, in at least one case, achieve moderate success through an ill-conceived stint on a reality TV cooking competition? What wretched curse would force that woman to be surrounded by a dynasty of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who will all love her and care for her until her last breath?

Ahpor. Grandma (possibly), our relationship itself is an anachronism — a generation or two earlier and we’d likely have never even met. But we are bonded by blood; a connection that is as much primal instinct as it is love and respect. And that’s what makes us a family, and one that has been created by the sheer force of your will.

–

To my mother,

What can I say to the woman who created me from nothing? Who stood between me and death until I was strong enough to stand for myself? Who taught me to speak, to read, to write and to count? To tie my shoes, the correct table manners for drinking soup, how to draw a person’s face, and how to ask my boss for a raise?

How on earth you have amassed the wisdom you have in just one lifetime is beyond me. You are my own private oracle. But not like the irritatingly folksy one from The Matrix, nor the one with the laser eyes from The Never-ending Story.

All I can say, dearest Mother, is “Thanks a bunch!”

I know you’re proud of me as all mothers are of their sons, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you how proud I am of you.

Nearly twenty years ago, when the task of raising your own children was all but done, you decided to devote your life’s remaining energies to helping orphaned and disabled babies in rural China. You’d say God called you, but regardless of who’s idea it was, the fact remains that you’ve built orphanages, hospital units and care facilities that have improved the lives of people who, without you, would have had no chance at all.

I’ve been lucky enough to grow up with an amazing mother, and I’m proud that children who would not have been so lucky can experience a mother’s love from the best in the business.

There are thousands out in the world right now who, like me, have you to thank for the very fact that they are walking, smiling and breathing today. What a magnificent stroke of luck for all of us that you are the person you are!

–

To my wife,

I remember the first time I ever saw you. You walked through the room, a vision of beauty, elegance and grace, and I turned to my friend and I said, “I’d hit that.”

You call it love at first sight, but my recollection of the emotion was slightly less romantic. And if I’m to be honest, that’s the way it should be. Only the creepiest of stalkers fall in love with people they don’t even know.

My love for you comes not from a moment’s smile or a glance at a shapely bosom, but from our years together, our shared experiences and the way we learn from each other. And as we continue to live and share and learn, that love continues to grow stronger.

What I’m trying to say is: the more I know you, the more I like you.

You’ve guided me through some of the most dramatic changes in my life, and had to leave your friends, family, career and country in doing so. Sometimes you’ve supported me, sometimes you’ve pushed me, and sometimes you’ve dragged me kicking and screaming into being a better man.

I hope that what we have is forever, but who knows? Statistically at least, cross-cultural marriages like ours are fighting a losing battle. Perhaps one day you’ll fall out of love with me and break my heart. Perhaps in time I will take leave of my senses and, like Geoffrey Edelsten, choose to spend my twilight years being berated by a giant blonde idiot. Or perhaps we’ll grow old together, see the world together, and die in each other’s arms at 120.

No matter how it turns out, my wife, I’m glad to have met you.

–

To my daughter,

First of all, you don’t actually exist yet, so please forgive me if this letter comes across as slightly impersonal.

I don’t know what kind of music you’ll like, what clothes you’ll wear or what brand of mobile phone you’ll want to use to call your good-for-nothing boyfriend who you shouldn’t even be seeing in the first place.

In fact, I know about as much about growing up as a young woman in the 21st century as my grandmother did about being a teenage boy in an age where Rick Astley was allowed to achieve success non-ironically.

What I do know is that you come from a long line of impressive and powerful women; women that can and have changed the future, and improved the lives of thousands.

These women who have come before you have affected my life in ways that you’ll come to understand over the years. And in the same way, when you come into this world, my life will change again.

As you learn about these women in your family, you may decide that they are extraordinary. But I prefer to think of them as exactly ordinary – testament and example to the incredible power of ordinary women.

For my part, what I hope you take from their experience is the right to self-determination – the belief and ability for you to become the person that you want to be, rather than the person that I or anyone else may want you to be. Whatever you choose as the grist to your mill, know that it is your choice, and that you have my support as a father and the support of the generations of women that have lived, fought and loved in our family.

–

Men Of Letters will be held this Sunday October 19 from 3pm, at Sydney’s The Basement — featuring Ken Done, Buck 65, Scott Ludlam, Andrew O’Keefe, Omar Musa, Brett Kirk, Ian ‘Dicko’ Dickson, Nick Coyle, Patrick McIntyre, Neil Lawrence, and a DJ set by Zan Rowe. Book your tickets now.

–