Mrs Ting (88 years old), whom I hadn’t seen for four years, suddenly rang me on Saturday to wish me a Happy Chinese New Year, then proceeded to tell me she’d been in pain from her crooked back and the resultant imbalance of body weight placed on her legs. I immediately said I’d go the following Wednesday and give her a massage, and cook lunch for her.
I’d met Mrs Ting about six years ago, through a Malaysian woman, Mei Ling, who lives down the road from her. I’d been giving Mei Ling back massages on and off, as well as doing her gardening — all for free. Mei Ling then asked if I could do Mrs Ting’s bad back as well.
As I was preparing lunch for Mrs Ting, she asked if she could tell Mei Ling that I was visiting her. This is the exchange:
Me: Why not?
Mrs Ting: I wasn't sure if I should.
Me: Why do you feel you shouldn’t tell Mei Ling? What’s wrong with my visiting you?
Mrs Ting: I don’t know if it’ll be right to tell her.
Me: Why should you think it might not be right to tell her?
Mrs Ting: I don’t know if I should tell her, that’s why I’m asking you.
Me: Yes, you’ve already said that bit. What I’m asking is the “why”: why should you worry about telling her?
Mrs Ting: That’s why I’m asking you if it’ll be all right.
Me: I’ve understood that bit. I just want to know why you should think it might not be right to tell her, that’s all.
Mrs Ting: I don’t know if it’ll be right to, so I thought I should ask you first.
At that point, I just gave up.
PS: “Mrs Ting” and “Mei Ling” are not their real names.
(London, 2018)
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