Instinctively, everyone launched into the familiar English tune: “Happy birthday to you… happy birthday to you…”
They didn’t finish the English song. Instead, they let the old cassette player loop the Teochew birthday song three times. When it ended, Ah Ma took a deep breath and said, “Jiak png!” (Let’s eat rice.) happy birthday song in teochew
The lyrics were simple, nothing like the polished English version. It went: “Leh jit gao si, huai sim si… Leh jit gao si, huai sim si… Gung hee leh, gung hee leh… Leh jit gao si, huai sim si…” It went: “Leh jit gao si, huai sim
And for the first time, Jun Wei understood that a birthday isn’t about cake or candles. It’s about being truly heard —in the language of your heart. It was a woman’s voice, young and strong,
A scratchy, tinny melody filled the room. It was a woman’s voice, young and strong, singing not in English, but in the rough, guttural tones of old Teochew.
Tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks, but she was smiling—a real smile, not the polite one from before. She started to sing along, her ancient voice cracking but true. “Leh jit gao si, huai sim si…” Jun Wei didn’t know the words. But he knew the tune. He hummed along, off-key, holding her hand. His father, a stoic man who never cried, wiped his eyes with a napkin.
