DAY 1
“Your Po Po is turning into a moth,” Ma said when she came out of the spare bedroom.
“You’re joking, right?”
“It’s a family secret and it happens to everyone in our family.” Ma’s tone was deadly serious. “That’s why you need to learn how to prepare for it now. When my transition starts, you will know what to do.”
“Why haven’t you told me this before?”
“You wouldn’t believe in it unless you’ve witnessed it yourself. It sounded so surreal to me until I saw your Gong Gong turn.”
I finally understood why my grandmother seemed to find it difficult to explain to me why I never got to see my grandfather in person and only knew him from photo albums. Or why Ma was disproportionately furious with me when I tried to hit a white furry moth with a roll of newspaper during the Ching Ming Festival years ago. It’s just a stupid moth! I had thought back then.
Through the gaps of the door, I saw Po Po on the bed, staring straight at the wall. Her unblinking eyes resembled those of fish lying on ice in the wet markets. Her mouth was parted, but no words or sounds came out of it.
The last time I met her was months ago, during the Chinese New Year when I went to her flat. I could already hear her laughter outside of her door. My cousins were filming her for an Instagram Reel. She was dancing in a pair of sunglasses to a K-pop artist’s latest song. But she had been so quiet and almost motionless since Ma had brought her back to our flat, so stock-still that I found it eerie and uncomfortable.
“Let your Po Po rest today.” Ma closed the door. “I have to call Auntie Ping now. We have to start preparing for the transition soon.”
DAY 2
“Has no one ever tried to stop the transformation?”
“Well, your ancestors had tried to,” Ma said. “They sought help from doctors all over Asia, visiting monks, Daoshis, exorcists, shamans…all sorts of people who claim they could perform miracles but none of them could stop it.” She put steamed sweet potatoes into the blender.
“You said Gong Gong turned into a moth when you were thirteen, right? And Po Po is only going through this transformation now. So there isn’t a fixed time as to when we are going to change?”
“Mhm…” Ma nodded while she put ice into the blender.
“So unpredictable and uncontrollable! That’s scary!”
“A lot of things are unpredictable and uncontrollable but we just need to let go of our control of things and let it be.” said Auntie Ping in her usual Zen tone while she squeezed jasmine-scented honey into the blender and pressed the button in the middle. “Go with the flow and you won’t fear it.”
Once the whirring sound from the blender died down, Ma pulled the liquid into a glass and said to me, “It’s done. As simple as that.”
“That’s all she will eat?”
The results from my Google search of “What do moths eat” the previous night also contained “cloth,” “cotton,” “wool,” “fur,” and worse of all, “bird droppings.” Urgh… I couldn’t imagine myself consuming any of those things listed. Seeing the sweet potato honey smoothie made me feel better about this whole transformation thing.
“Oh, right!” Auntie Ping took the straw Ma had given to her and dropped it in the glass. “I almost forgot about this.”
“This is very important,” Ma said. “She won’t be able to eat without this. You have to wait till she grows a proboscis.”
“A pro-what now?”
“A proboscis. You should revise your biology,” Ma said.
“I don’t think we learnt that in biology.”
Upon unlocking the door to the spare bedroom, a musty smell of damp clothes rushed through my nostrils. Under the dim light, I saw little white dots on the duvet and on the floor around where Po Po slept. When Ma pulled the curtains open to let the sunlight in, I yelped, for the white little spots turned out to be human teeth.
“Oh god… what happened?”
“It’s part of the transformation,” said Ma in a matter-of-fact tone.
“It’s part of it!? This looks…” I didn’t dare to say the word “disgusting” out loud.
“Ma, it’s time to eat.” Auntie Ping tapped on Po Po’s shoulder.
The moment Po Po rolled over, my body hiccuped. Her cheeks had sunken so drastically that her cheekbones were much more pronounced than usual, giving her a very sharp edge. Her lips sagged, corners of her mouth drooping. The distance between her nose and chin was reduced. A bit of dark hair sprouted underneath her nose and on her chin as if she was starting to grow a beard. Without her teeth, her face had partially collapsed.
Auntie Ping helped Po Po to sit up from the bed and Ma held the glass of potato smoothie closer to her. Po Po leaned in and opened her mouth, revealing only pinkish gums within and nothing else. She wrapped her lips around the straw, and then sucked greedily at the drink.
“Slowly, Ma. Slowly…” Ma murmured.
The hair on my arms stood up like meerkats on the lookout for danger. It occurred to me how all my skincare routines and the money I spent on products to keep my cheeks firm and bouncy would go to waste in one night.
DAY 3
“Help me with taking your Po Po’s measurements.” Ma yanked me out of bed in the early morning. “We need to get the cloak done as soon as possible.”
“Cloak? What cloak?”
I went into the living room and saw cut-out pieces of velvet fabric lying across the floor. The black velvet fabric which would be the outer layer of the cloak had white and light brown stripes at the bottom. Ma said the inner layer of the cloak would be made from a bright yellow velvet fabric which had dark brown stripes across it.
“Why are we making a cloak?”
“It will be part of her new form, her wings,” said Ma while she searched for the measurement tape. “That’s why we have to make sure it fits her perfectly.”
When we entered the room, Po Po had already woken up, sitting quietly on her bed and gazing blankly at the wall.
“How are you feeling, Ma?” Ma said, knowing she would not receive a response. “We’re going to measure you now, for the cloak. You will love the cloak when you see it. Ping travelled all the way to Ghana to find the fabric. Their fabric is well known for its durability. Could last 300 years and not tear easily.”
It took some time for Po Po to get off the bed. As she stood, I was shocked at how scrawny her limbs appeared. There was almost no trace of fat. Slim and black, the same colour as the chicken Ma had made, which was forgotten and overcooked in the oven. I wished it was Po Po who was making the chicken. Her roasted chicken was always the best.
DAY 4
Po Po’s proboscis finally grew out and her human mouth was gone. It looked like a long black garden hose attached to her head. Ma told me she could only have honey and nothing else from now on.
“To be exact, nectar from fresh flowers. Those processed honey can no longer satisfy her,” Ma said before heading out to the flower shop nearby.
She came back with a huge bouquet of mixed flowers and picked a few from it for Po Po’s breakfast.
I watched Po Po’s proboscis unfurled and extended. The needle tip sank into the center of the flowers to take in the sweetness in them and then curled to retract when she had sucked them dry. Her skin looked glossy the moment she was done. Her eyes also twinkled, bright and alert, and that was when I realised they looked larger and darker than normal. Ma did tell me her eyes would be enlarging and they would seem like popping out of her head at one point. The thought of it made me stop drinking my bubble tea and spit out the bubbles I just inhaled.
Po Po’s voice came back along with the emergence of her proboscis. Yet, the sounds coming out of that long tube were neither comprehensible words. They were a series of loud squeaks which sounded like two rubber rain boots rubbing their bodies against each other. While making these sounds, her proboscis also vibrated like the reed of a wind instrument.
Strangely, I found it comforting that Po Po was no longer silent. Being unable to speak, to utter a sound, felt horrifying and suffocating for me. I still missed the days when I could understand the things she uttered.
DAY 5
Po Po regained her vitality and strength after an extra pair of dark-coloured limbs had grown out of her. She wasn’t on the bed when I went into the room to wake her up. I looked up and screamed my lungs out. Po Po was up on the ceiling, cocking her head at me with her huge black bubble-like eyes.
Ma calmly came into the room, looked up and greeted Po Po after hearing my scream.
“You know something’s gonna be different for her every day,” Ma said. There was a hint of mockery in her tone.
With her new pair of limbs, Po Po no longer stayed put. She whizzed around the flat. Her six bare limbs hit the wooden floor almost simultaneously and loudly which made it sound like there were more than four people pacing rapidly around the flat all day long.
That night, the neighbour living below us rang the bell of our flat.
“Mrs. Chen, are you having a party of some sort?” Her voice passed through the metal gate and the wooden door of our flat. “I was just wondering whether you could ask your guests to move less around the flat? It’s past ten p.m. after all. My family and I need to get up early tomorrow.”
Shit! I looked at Ma and Auntie Ping but they remained chill and relaxed.
“I will deal with this,” Ma said and walked towards the door.
“Ma, you can’t open the door! She will see Po Po!”
At that moment, Po Po was right above the door.
“Just let your mother deal with this,” Auntie Ping said, patting me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry.”
“We have been preparing for a feast and have been busy all day long. Sorry for the noise,” Ma lied after opening the door.
“Oh! Are you preparing for the Ching Ming Festival too?” said the neighbour with a tone of realisation.
“Yes.”
I looked at the calendar on the fridge. The festival was the 5th of April, tomorrow.
“Same here! My husband and I have been busy making preparations for the festival since eight this morning and probably have to wake up early again tomorrow just to make sure everything is in order. My sister-in-law always nitpicks everything I do and I just hope she doesn’t complain about how we dishonour her mother because our roasted pig is not big enough or how little offerings we have prepared for her.” Our neighbours and Ma began to chit-chat about the workload and family dramas that had happened before and during Ching Ming Festival in years past.
It was lucky that, during that period of time, not even once the neighbour had stepped forward or had poked her head out because at one point I saw one of Po Po’s hind limbs sliding downwards, almost touching the door frame.
“Yes. Anyways, I’m really sorry about the noise. We will stop soon,” said Ma, finally, putting on a polite smile.
After closing the door, Ma looked at the clock above the television and then looked up at Po Po. “It’s time for you to go back to your room, Ma.” She turned to Aunt Ping. “Go and grab the bandages. We have to start wrapping her up now.”
“Wrap her up? What do you mean by that?”
Ma guided Po Po back into her room where she crawled up her bed and lay flat on it. Auntie Ping came in with rolls of silky-looking elastic bandages and passed one to Ma. Then, they began to wrap the bandages around Po Po.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s part of the process,” said Aunt Ping.
They started with her hind legs, circling the bandages around them twice to make sure the bandages wouldn’t slide off.
“Stop it! What are you doing?”
The bandages soon reached Po Po’s proboscis and they didn’t stop. They kept going round and round, further and further upwards.
“Wait! That will suffocate her!”
Po Po’s huge eyes were being blindfolded and Ma continued to overlap them with more layers. Po Po didn’t struggle or fight. She just lay there and let Ma and Auntie Ping tighten the bandages around her.
“What are you doing?”
My mind had finally recovered from shock and my feet could finally move. I rushed forward.
“Ping.” Ma gestured at Auntie Ping.
“Stop it! Stop-”
I was kicked out of the room. The door slammed before my eyes, leaving me only the image of a mummified Po Po.
“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to her?” I sat down at the door with profound frustration, weeping throughout the night when my request to be let into Po Po’s room again was denied by both Ma and Auntie Ping who gave me the silent treatment.
DAY 6
At around 9 a.m., the door to Po Po’s room was unlocked. Po Po, mummified, lay motionless and noiselessly on the bed.
“Is this the truth behind the transformation? We are forever silenced and contained?”
“Be patient and wait till tonight. The transition hasn’t been completed yet,” Ma said with an annoyed tone. “Now come and help me to prepare the feast for your relatives.”
“Our relatives are coming?”
“Those who have once witnessed the transition knew they have to come on this day,” Auntie Ping said. “It’s always on the 6th day that everyone comes to celebrate the reunion.”
“Celebrate the reunion? What reunion?”
“You’ll see,” said Auntie Ping, her tone filled with anticipation.
In the evening, relatives had arrived at our house. Everyone gathered around the dining table, feasting, chatting happily and clinking glasses.
I couldn’t stand the joyous atmosphere so I spent most of the time hiding in Po Po’s room, where a woody smell containing a hint of spice and a floral note had filled up the air. Auntie Ping had set up a tiny wooden altar before the bed with a huge framed black and white portrait of Po Po in the middle. Three thick joss sticks were placed in two ceramic pots on each side of the portrait. They were mostly half-burnt.
A few hours later, most of the joss sticks had burnt off and people in the flat started to enter Po Po’s bedroom. All the windows in the room were opened, all the curtains drawn apart and the moonlight was streaming in.
As the last bit of the joss sticks were burnt off, a crack appeared on the mummified Po Po, then the cocoon slitted apart and deflated like a balloon being cut. We were first greeted by a pair of enormous black orbuculums on a diamond-shaped face. A furry body with slender six limbs climbed out after that. Her thorax was covered entirely by yellow fluffy hair. Her antennae which looked like two black metal springs had grown out of her forehead, bouncing in excitement. A huge and elongated bum, yellow and black striped, her abdomen, was glossy and sparkling as she wiggled off the silk bandages that clung to her. After Ma and Auntie Ping clad the cloak they had made on her, she lifted her head and released a proud, loud and long squeak under the ray of the moonlight.
“I can see them! They are coming!” Someone shouted excitedly and pointed at the night sky. Tiny white dots appeared, which I thought were stars at first but gradually evolved into something else, a flock of moths. They were all sparkling under the moonlight and as they came through the window, they circled Po Po until she was not visible, as if she was caught up in a tornado.
“What’s going on?”
“Just wait,” said Ma.
When the tornado had dispersed, Po Po was gone.
“Where is Po Po?” I dashed to the position where Po Po once stood. “I don’t understand.” I knelt down on the floor, frustrated.
“Ah Nui, look.” Ma tapped me on the shoulder. “She’s right here.”
I heard a familiar squeak and felt a tickle on my left arm. The moment I looked down, I saw her. There she was, a tiny little being. Her metal spring-like antennae danced. Her yellow and black patterned wings flapped. Her dark and thin limbs crawled across the back of my left hand towards the curl of my index finger. When she finally reached there, she started to wiggle her abdomen like how she used to dance when my cousins made Instagram Reels of her; and there was a face on her thorax, the face she had had when she had been human.
“Look who has joined us! This should be your first official meeting with him.”
I looked up and saw a white fluffy moth appearing on Auntie Ping’s shoulder which later flew down and joined Po Po on the back of my hand. The two moths closed into one another and pressed their foreheads against one another, letting their antenna intertwine.
I realised they had never left us.
J.M. Wong is a writer from Hong Kong. Her work, ‘The City on the Dragon’s back’ was published in the Hong Kong Writer’s Circle Anthology and her short story – ‘The Lone Wolf’ won the Most Creative Award for Hong Kong Top Story 2021. She also self-published a fantasy novel, Under Her Cursed Scythe in 2018. Her work often includes themes of humanity, animals, surrealism, domesticity and magic. Currently, she is studying a M.A. in Creative Writing at Lancaster University.
Sonia Ruscoe is a painter from and based in NY. Educated at Brooklyn College. www.soniacorina.com