To leaf through the past
Every family needs a chronicler. And when my first child was born I decided it would be me. I wanted to write down every moment, every movement, every sound of my newborn daughter. I bought a camera and was snapping photos all day long.
Scrapbooks were catching on in Hong Kong at the time, and I liked the idea; the way energetic, creative mums would combine photos and craftwork with captions, write-ups and affirmations. Not only were these family scrapbooks works of art, they also made sure that nobody forgot when children got their first tooth, tied their shoe, or rode a bike for the first time.
I began writing monthly one-page letters to my daughter, telling her the news of the month - 'I took you to see the beautiful purple flowers that bloom on the hillside this time of year. You sneezed.' - accompanied by a page full of photos taken throughout the month. I laminated these pages and had them coil-bound, then presented the 'memory book' to her for her first birthday. It became a ritual.
Two years later, her little sister was born, and the memory book for that year had a cover shot of the two of them under the title 'Three's company: the year you became a big sister, and other great things'.
From then on I wrote for both of them - about their first trips to the dentist and doctor, their first days at school, their first dance recitals and races won, their holidays and friends. I wrote about their achievements and their parents' and sister's pride. I wrote about broken arms and disappointments and friends who moved away.
Sometimes, I included quotes, such as those from Disney films: 'The greatest gift and honour is having you for a daughter.' (Fa Mulan in Mulan), 'Sometimes the right path is not the easiest one.' (Grandmother Willow in Pocahontas), 'Remember who you are.' (Mufasa in The Lion King). In later years, my choice of affirmations reflected their growing maturity, and I offered Chinese proverbs: 'A parent owes a child two things: roots and wings,' and Gandhi: 'We must be the change we wish to see in the world.'
Despite my being a children's book writer, these home-made, coil-bound books were the most popular literary works in our home. From time to time, I would see the girls - sometimes together, sometimes alone - sitting in the floor with their memory books scattered around them, reliving their young lives.
Of course, it was a lot of work creating two wholly distinct letter and photo pages each month, and by the time my oldest daughter was about seven years old, I began to crumble. By the time the girls were eight and six, I told them this was Mum's job only until their 10th birthday; after that they would have to be their own chroniclers.
My older daughter's last memory book was given to her just before she became a busy secondary student with no spare time to continue what I had started. There were times that I felt I could still continue with the books, and she asked me to many times; but they had had ample warning, and it is too late to pick up from where it ended now. My younger daughter has just received her last memory book. They are both on their own now.
At times I regret having stopped. But when I see them flip through a book together, enjoying and refreshing their memories, checking one out to reference in a school project, or showing them to friends and relatives, I am grateful. They have come to know themselves from the moment they were born, and will always remember who they are. I've done well enough.
Karmel Schreyer is a freelance writer and mother of two girls
