The Crying Lady

As a child, it is hard to confront the vulnerability of a parent. The first time Phua saw his mother cry was in a temple, mourning the death of her mother. A quiet yet monumental moment, it marked a loss of innocence; an erosion of the complete faith in parents as indestructible. “The Crying Lady” is a construction of this memory, replete with fragmented but vivid images — his father’s flannel shirt draped over her, the thick temple air, bright gold ornaments, a lone turtle in the pond.