Last night at 12.10am Emma Yong passed away.
Words are pathetic, ineffective, lacking, a rough-hewn tool to express what so many hearts and souls are experiencing now: the loss felt by her husband, her family, her friends, her community, her country — the lives, the stages, the atmospheres she lit up with her Tinkerbell voice and indefatigable hope.
My first memory of her will ever be my favourite. Emma in her RJC uniform standing behind the counter at her aunty’s comicbook shop on the second floor of Serene Centre, calling me “Aunty Theresa” (cough, sputter — I was merely 27 to her 18), asking if she should pursue theatre overseas or locally.
I am glad she brought her immense talent home. We never spoke much after that, but she made her dreams come true and for that I was so, so glad.
She gave of her face and her fame to an anti-trafficking campaign I ran for my women’s group, Women Make a Difference, together with the other two precious Dollies, Selena and Pam.
Cancer might think it’s won this round, Emma, but I believe you ultimately won the battle you so valiantly fought. I believe God heard your prayers, and I believe I will see you again, singing in your gorgeous Tinkerbell voice with the angels as your backup.
A Clean Breast Of It 