A Love Letter to My Grandmother
from your grandchild, a Drag Queen.
My Dearest Ah Ma,
I’ve come to realise that “Ler wu dng lai jia bor?” (“Are you coming home to eat?”) is your way of saying “I love you”. And admittedly, it took me quite a while to reciprocate your love. I hope to make it up to you.
To many, being asked if they’ll be coming home for dinner would be accompanied by feelings of affection, warmth and familiarity. However, as an entry-level executive, the “pre-Opera Tang” version of me, I would often get annoyed when you would call me at 3 PM-ish on a busy work day. I would answer hastily and get back to work. And in hindsight, I am terribly ashamed of the attitude I had towards your only direct line of communication with me away from home. But regardless of how rude I was, you would never fail to fill my tummy when I came home. For that, ah ma, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I ever took you for granted.
Looking back, you have always been a prominent and supportive figure in my life. When I was a little boy, you cooked my favourite Teochew and Peranakan dishes and even played dress-up with me.
I felt safe with you around because you didn’t judge my liking of dolls, and you even made dresses for them with the scrap materials you had. I will always remember the time you revealed that gorgeous white duchess satin, off-shoulder, princess-cut miniature wedding dress you made for one of my sister’s dolls (I wasn’t allowed to own them, but you let me play with them anyway). The effortless way you created beautiful garments from just a few plain materials was just magic to me. And with your magical powers, you sparked a light in me that hasn’t gone out till this day — if anything, that very light has turned into a flaming bonfire.
Unfortunately, as I grew into my teens, I learnt to hide this side of myself to avoid ridicule, albeit rather unsuccessfully, because my femininity couldn’t be contained (it was too obvious). And as a result, I grew further away from you to try to fit in with the other boys. But I’m glad this part of my life is over because it was so suffocating pretending to be someone else to please those who didn’t truly care for me. And even through all this, you were there to alter my school trousers so I could get that sought-after tapered look, supporting me as I was still figuring out who I was.
Fast forward to my first job after graduation: when I started dabbling around with the art of drag, I rekindled the passion I had for all things feminine, pretty and pink. And the truth is, it was always in me — the magic you enchanted me with as a baby never died. It’s funny to think that through all these years, you’ve played a pivotal role in creating garments for my playthings, my education and now, my drag career. I will always cherish the times we spent seated at your 70-plus-year-old mechanical sewing machine, feet on the pedal, hands on the cloth. With you looking over my shoulder, instructing me in the ways of your seamstressing craft, imparting a piece of you that will forever live within me.
I sometimes joke that when I die, I would want to be buried in the first costume we made together: a magenta open back, cheongsam crop top and a pair of high-waisted A-line trousers — all with matching buttons, of course. And for that, I dedicate my drag to you, ah ma. Because without you, I wouldn’t have been able to realise my passion. I am truly blessed to have you as my ah ma, my mentor and my biggest supporter.
I no longer work an office job, and you no longer call me at 3 PM-ish to ask if I’ll be home for dinner. But whenever you call, I now answer with joy, gratitude and so much love.
“Wu, ah ma, wa wu dng lai jia” - Yes, ah ma, I’m coming home for dinner.
Follow Opera’s journey as a drag queen on their Instagram at @opera.tang - there are also multiple cute features with her ah ma too!
Hey! Before you go, we’re curious about your relationship with your grandparents as well- what’s something you would like to say to them but you haven’t? Let us know in the comments!
Sexy