Sunday, December 24, 2006
Foresight
In my line of work, I sometimes require magnification. On those occasions I call upon a simple optical implement that perhaps holds a bit more nostalgia than a device of its nature usually does.
It is basically a foldable, segmented aluminium frame that holds a glass lens above a square cutout with metric and imperial divisions marked out on the side, and folds neatly into a flat unit to fit into a pocket. The words “Made In Japan” are proudly engraved on the body, leaving no doubt as to its origin. A relatively simple design compared to the myriad of inspection devices available on the market, but handy enough to be carried around while still fulfilling its purpose.
How it came to be in my possession, however, requires me to delve a little further back.
By all accounts, my paternal grandfather was a colourful character. Anecdotes of him being a martial arts exponent, motorcycle hell-rider, electrician, hawker of duck-rice and sugarcane juice are common-fare during extended family dinners. Also recalled with some fondness are his personality traits. There was once a discussion about blood-types in the family, and when a question was asked about his blood-type, one of my uncles volunteered immediately that it had to be XO, referring to his fiery temper as well as his love of drink. Another discussion once centered around his bevy of mistresses, some more memorable than the others.
When I was in primary school, I spent some of my school holidays at my paternal grandparents’ place with my cousin, occupying our days with improvised entertainment both indoors and outdoors. My recollections of him are of an elderly man, gaunt and weakened by stroke and lung ailments brought on by smoking, a habit which he did not break even then. He spent the majority of the day lying down on a couch, getting up only to clear his throat of phlegm into a spittoon and occasionally shuffling painfully to the toilet with the aid of a four-legged walker. My cousin and I were about 8 to 10 years old at that time, and already accustomed to the smell of cigarettes together with the sound of his hacking cough. Still, when he spoke he was fluent in English and articulate, as opposed to my grandmother who only spoke Cantonese. His voice retained a commanding quality to it, a trait that was passed on to my father’s generation and probably to mine. More than once I’ve had complaints from colleagues in the office for speaking to them at volumes more suitable for the shopfloor, where the din of production does not favour the soft-spoken.
He passed away when I was 11, finally succumbing to the effects of smoking. After the funeral and final arrangements were done, the extended family started going through his belongings to clear out whatever could be cleared. Among the more memorable ones were some letters, hand-written in a swirling cursive (both English and Chinese) that suggested a certain aesthetic sensibility, as well as an A4-sized B/W photograph of him as a young boy our age then, sitting in the front row of what was an enormous family photograph with his grandfather in the centre, flanked by what must have been at least 7 or 8 wives. I guess that’s the way things were in those days.
There were other more mundane items that were destined for the trash bag, but amongst them I spotted a curious looking shiny object lying in the corner of his drawer. I was fascinated by the way it folded and unfolded, almost similar to the Transformers that were a big part of my childhood. I immediately claimed it for my own and set about examining everything I could get my hands on. It became my prized possession for a few days, after which it was forgotten and went into a corner of my own drawer, overshadowed by other more pressing issues like what excuse to give for not doing my homework yet again.
Almost 14 years later, it has come out of my drawer and onto my office desk, finally being put into service again after a long hiatus. Now that I think of it, I’m not too sure what my grandfather used it for. My best guess would be that he used it for reading, but I’ll never really know.
Perhaps it was incredible foresight on the part of an 11 year old me that I would have use for it down the road.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
It is basically a foldable, segmented aluminium frame that holds a glass lens above a square cutout with metric and imperial divisions marked out on the side, and folds neatly into a flat unit to fit into a pocket. The words “Made In Japan” are proudly engraved on the body, leaving no doubt as to its origin. A relatively simple design compared to the myriad of inspection devices available on the market, but handy enough to be carried around while still fulfilling its purpose.
How it came to be in my possession, however, requires me to delve a little further back.
By all accounts, my paternal grandfather was a colourful character. Anecdotes of him being a martial arts exponent, motorcycle hell-rider, electrician, hawker of duck-rice and sugarcane juice are common-fare during extended family dinners. Also recalled with some fondness are his personality traits. There was once a discussion about blood-types in the family, and when a question was asked about his blood-type, one of my uncles volunteered immediately that it had to be XO, referring to his fiery temper as well as his love of drink. Another discussion once centered around his bevy of mistresses, some more memorable than the others.
When I was in primary school, I spent some of my school holidays at my paternal grandparents’ place with my cousin, occupying our days with improvised entertainment both indoors and outdoors. My recollections of him are of an elderly man, gaunt and weakened by stroke and lung ailments brought on by smoking, a habit which he did not break even then. He spent the majority of the day lying down on a couch, getting up only to clear his throat of phlegm into a spittoon and occasionally shuffling painfully to the toilet with the aid of a four-legged walker. My cousin and I were about 8 to 10 years old at that time, and already accustomed to the smell of cigarettes together with the sound of his hacking cough. Still, when he spoke he was fluent in English and articulate, as opposed to my grandmother who only spoke Cantonese. His voice retained a commanding quality to it, a trait that was passed on to my father’s generation and probably to mine. More than once I’ve had complaints from colleagues in the office for speaking to them at volumes more suitable for the shopfloor, where the din of production does not favour the soft-spoken.
He passed away when I was 11, finally succumbing to the effects of smoking. After the funeral and final arrangements were done, the extended family started going through his belongings to clear out whatever could be cleared. Among the more memorable ones were some letters, hand-written in a swirling cursive (both English and Chinese) that suggested a certain aesthetic sensibility, as well as an A4-sized B/W photograph of him as a young boy our age then, sitting in the front row of what was an enormous family photograph with his grandfather in the centre, flanked by what must have been at least 7 or 8 wives. I guess that’s the way things were in those days.
There were other more mundane items that were destined for the trash bag, but amongst them I spotted a curious looking shiny object lying in the corner of his drawer. I was fascinated by the way it folded and unfolded, almost similar to the Transformers that were a big part of my childhood. I immediately claimed it for my own and set about examining everything I could get my hands on. It became my prized possession for a few days, after which it was forgotten and went into a corner of my own drawer, overshadowed by other more pressing issues like what excuse to give for not doing my homework yet again.
Almost 14 years later, it has come out of my drawer and onto my office desk, finally being put into service again after a long hiatus. Now that I think of it, I’m not too sure what my grandfather used it for. My best guess would be that he used it for reading, but I’ll never really know.
Perhaps it was incredible foresight on the part of an 11 year old me that I would have use for it down the road.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
