In my childhood, Grandpa often played badminton with me. Over 70 as he was, he was able to hit back with ease every shuttlecock I served. When he won a game, I was a bit upset, but I admired from the bottom of my heart the grey-haired senior citizen for his great skills. With such a seasoned playmate, I became better at the sport overtime.

One afternoon three years ago, Dad came back with bad news. His father, my dear grandad, had been diagnosed with a severe disorder, which was unfortunately incurable. It so shocked me that I grabbed my phone and tapped the WeChat app icon right away. On the social app, I messaged Grandpa, asking him if he was all right.

Hours later, he messaged back with a request, “Can we have a video chat, dear?” Instantly my tears poured out despite myself. To let Grandpa see me in such a mess was the last thing I would do, so I declined it. In no way did I know then that it was a decision I was to rue for the rest of my life. I promised to chat with him later, though.

Early one morning weeks later, I was woken up by Mum. “Get up right way, Honey,” she said urgently. “Grandpa passed away last night. We shall go back to the hometown for the funeral.” I could hardly believe my ears. I shook my head to make sure I had heard it right. The next moment saw me reaching for my phone and opening the WeChat chat box, where I found an unread message from Grandpa.

It went, “I’m all right, dear. Look after yourself. I’m proud of you. Looking forward to the next chat.”

Far from tech savvy, Grandad could not input Chinese words using pinyin. He must have spelled each Chinese character stroke by stroke with his finger on the cramped screen.

Tears misted over my eyes.