Bead by Bead

This is for Mikeydred's June Challenge.

I can't share this story without delving into a little culture--mine.

I'm Chinese, with an ethnic twist. A straits-born, South East Asian Peranakan Chinese whose ancestors embraced Indonesian and Malay traditions.

And merged them with Chinese conventions.

The dumpling festival referred to in this story is one...the prayers with the Kasut (beaded slippers) are uniquely Peranakan.

Do enjoy this story.

When heritage isn’t honored, it haunts.

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Peranakan Kebaya

Duan Wu Jie (The Dumpling Festival) made its usual appearance in early June. The dumpling steam in Bibik Li Lian's kitchen clung tighter than sweat--usually enticing, it now had an unusual heaviness that made Mei dread them.

Bibik Li Lian folded the dumplings every 5th day of the 5th Lunar Month, tighter each time--she packed grief together with pork and rice in banana leaves. She told Mei stories--that they were to remember Qu Yuan, the legendary Chinese poet who ceded his life to the river after his country betrayed him. The people of his town raced in dragon boats to locate him, throwing dumplings to feed his ghost. "But not all spirits leave when fed." Bibik Li Lian's warning was distinct. Ominous.

And so, they returned every June--in some shape or form.

The dumplings were a Ratings harvest for Mei--every inch the content creator, she wanted to capture a "Heritage Haul" video featuring Bibik's Great Grandmother's Kasut Manek (Beaded Slippers worn during festival prayers). The Gen Z in her wanted to give the slippers new life to merge with the video's aesthetic--authenticity with a nouveau spark. But she received no Grandmother's blessings.

It was a cut of Bibik's sharp tongue instead.

"Those slippers are for prayers, not show. They bind---the other world to ours. A widow's grief stains each of those threads. DO NOT TOUCH THEM."

The cryptic remarks were water rolling off Mei's back. They were too small to notice--or so she thought.

She slid some surreptitiously into her bag. In her room, she sewed them onto a new pair she bought at Haji Lane.

The prayers to consecrate the dumplings were set for that night--Mei was late, as usual, not able to resist one last look in her mirror.

And she didn't look good.

The girl in the mirror didn't look like Mei--she didn't blink when Mei did. Her limbs moved--just a second faster than Mei's. The people in surrounding family photos weren't where they used to be.

Aunt Lin wore a different dress. Grandpa now tracked her with his eyes.

Beads from the Kasut Manek fell to the floor like broken taboos.

Then the cracks appeared. Broken glass fell onto the floor.

The mirror --no more a boundary.

Mei glanced at her feet--and shrieked.

She was wearing Bibik's Kasut Manek--not the one she'd stitched up in a hurry.

The dumplings in the steamer came apart, one by one, with old blood and bones within.

Mei dropped to the floor. 

She awakened--but what looked like her was someone else. Her speech was complete Malay patois--just like Bibik's. She even corrected her grandmother's dumpling wrapping techniques.

The relatives praised her for finally taming her wild granddaughter-but the lauds were hollow. 

Bibik knew that Mei wasn't serving tea with her own hands.

Tradition hadn't bypassed her. The Kasut Manek had swallowed her--whole.

Mei's stitched pair of slippers did return, tucked beneath the altar when the festival ended. Along with looks laced with fear. 

Bibik simply marked the date on her calendar. July would require new Kasut. 

Mei would have to stitch them with the beads she had taken.

Bead by bead, step by step...she sewed.

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Original story by Michelle Liew. AI tags are coincidental.