When my grandma was alive, our family would play mahjong on Saturday night. Because each member of us had their own business or study, we couldn’t play every Saturday night, but when we gathered, mahjong was one of our favorites.
My father was the strongest. He was a kind of instructor for us. He taught us how to win. He told us about amazing mahjong masters while we were playing. I remember someone who could recognize tiles without seeing by touching with their thumb or finger.
My mother was weak. She was smart but careless. She often made mistakes and got penalty charges. She always wanted to win with a big hand so that everyone could presume what tiles she was waiting for.
My sister was my rival. She said nothing about her hand during a play. She always won with an easy and quick hand. Eventually, that’s a steady way to a victory.
My grandma was the funniest. She was talking something all the time. When she was losing, she suddenly began to pray for our local god whiningly and made us laugh. When her beloved granddaughter was winning, she pretended to not notice about it, deliberately discarded the tile which the granddaughter needed, and made her win.
I was a lucky person and coward. I often got the tiles which I needed by myself from the wall. I often threw my hand in. I did’t take a risk. That’s another way to a victory.
My grandma passed away more than ten years ago, my sister and I don’t live with my parents anymore. Our mahjong Saturday nights exist only in my sweet memories.