Filed under: Family Stories and tributes, hello mrs tsang goodbye mrs tsang
Hello Mrs Tsang, Goodbye Mrs Tsang.
The only person I have ever known who laughed, like Santa, with a ho-ho-ho, was chuckling. She was delighted to drink the tea her new granddaughter-in-law served, entirely bemused when her grandson nodded in cheeky approval as his bride pledged submission to his leadership and beamed with pride as the newly weds presented a duet,
Lucky- cover by Jason Mraz. She ate with gusto the entire day, so pleased was she to say hello to the newest Mrs Tsang. As my daughter wheeled her around the restaurant, she waved to her relatives in a queenly manner, certainly no less royal than the Queen herself. She was after all born in the same year as Queen Elizabeth, and must have imbibed some regality.
So imagine my shock when the phone call came early the very next morning, Sunday. 9 October, that she was not well. That afternoon, when I visited her, she held my hands and would not let go. I told her I loved her, and knew the end was near.
I did not know how I would take her passing, for I truly loved her – all of us did. When the end came 3 days later, it turned out that while all of us would miss her, we were all glad that she went peacefully. We were determined to celebrate her life. The first night was supposed to be a quiet affair, since the obituary would only be published the next day. A whole crowd came. We had a time of worship and tributes. The next day, the wake service was hilarious with more laughter than tears. All the grandchildren presented their eulogies – each sharing contained touching moments, and humorous incidents involving their grandma. During the funeral service, it was the turn of the daughters-in-law. Through it all, there was much joy exhibited – a sharing of the life of a person who handed out laughs the way Santa handed out presents. If the services were not held in a funeral parlour, people would never have guessed they were wake services.
What a mother-in-law I had. I was so privileged, so honoured to have had such wonderful in-laws. Casting my mind back to the sharing, I would smile at the words of some, and tear at others. Something that struck me was what my sister-in-law Jenny shared.
“Mum and Dad, by showing so much peace when Kenneth and I were incarcerated under the ISA gave my own parents hope, and helped them find God and the strength that only He could give.”
Yes, mum may have been an ordinary housewife, but even as her heart was broken when her eldest son, to our bewilderment, was taken away, she made it a point not to burden the rest of us with her woes. She encouraged each of us to continue to live as normally as we could, for there was nothing much we could do except trust God. Dad was the same. It must have been extremely difficult for them. On the one hand, they had to suffer the raw pain that this dealt their hearts. On the other hand, there were other children and their careers to think of. The other children and their spouses were all working, in one way or the other, with the government.
Those were difficult years. None of us dared to ask too many questions; we could feel the pain that my in-laws hid in their hearts. We had no clue why Ken and Jen were arrested. We did not know many of the so-called co-conspirators, and as we found out later, Ken and Jen did not know all of them either. It was agonizing to watch them being interviewed on TV – we listened hard, but nothing made sense.
I was reading DPM Rear Admiral Teo’s comments on the need of the ISA. All these years, for me at least, the question was not whether or not there was a need for the ISA. I can even accept the existence of the ISA if it is indeed necessary for the security of the country. However, when such a system is in place, surely there is a chance that the wrong people could be arrested? What then is the proviso to right a wrong? What redress is there for those wrongfully arrested, especially since there will be no public trials? If there is no courage to face our mistakes, no proviso in the event we are wrong, then we do not deserve this blank cheque to put someone behind bars without trial.
Yes, we are family members and obviously we believe in Ken and Jen’s innocence. After so many years, we still have no concrete evidence otherwise. While mum and dad carried their unanswered questions to the graves, many ex-ISA detainees are still alive. Were they really guilty? To tell us that there was a need to put away what were perceived as security threats is one thing, but if there were mistakes made, should not an apology, at the very least, be made? Or are we always perfect?
Frankly we have moved on. The generation below us did not even know this part of the family history until recently, when social media brought this to the fore. To receive answers now will make very little difference to our lives. Answering the questions, however, will give credibility to the people who are advocating the continuance of the ISA. It will assure the people that moral transparency is practiced.
To my mother-in-law’s credit, whatever pain she bore, she did not allow it to affect the lives of those around her. Apart from shouting death threats at Serena Williams when she wanted her to lose, she showed no visible bitterness. That is the way we Tsangs live, by the grace of God, and by her example. We will try to walk in her footsteps, continue to laugh and love, to leave bitterness aside.
Goodbye Grandma Tsang. May all the other Mrs Tsangs make you proud and continue your tradition of strength and joy.
Chew Clan outside No. 10
From left to right: 9th aunt, 6th aunt, mum, 4th aunt, 2nd uncle, 1st uncle, 3rd uncle, 1st aunt, 2nd aunt, 3rd aunt and 8th aunt.
Three of my aunts stayed at No 10. Two I loved immensely, the third I feared.
Grandma had 10 daughters, one of whom died way before I was born. The aunts staying at No 10 were the eldest, the third and the ninth.
Oldest aunt or Tai Yee was a widow with an only daughter, my cousin Sook Ching. Being from a traditional family, I believe she was match made. Unfortunately her husband was a sickly man, and died not long after the marriage. All this took place before I was born, so I really cannot be accurate about the history. Eventually, she came back to her maternal home.
Tai Yee was a very kindly person, and totally dedicated to my grandmother and her brothers. Always dressed in a samfoo, she was the cook of the family. I really enjoyed hanging around the kitchen, watching her bustling about, managing two or three charcoal stoves all at once. It is amazing how effective these old-timers were. It used to be that for Ah Por’s birthday, all the food came from that kitchen. Now that I manage my own kitchen, I have several stoves and an oven, and still I was nowhere as efficient, nor can I entertain as many guests as my Tai Yee had to.
But the legacy that Tai Yee left for me was her selfless love. It was not easy to carry the stigma of a widow, who was dependent on her maternal family for support and sustenance. She never grumbled, even though I know hurtful words were spoken behind her back. She plodded on, loving her family, and totally doting on her only daughter. That daughter eventually did her proud, qualifying for a Colombo Plan scholaraship for Medicine. Her son-in-law is also a doctor, and she was survived by 4 amazing grandchildren. To the Chew Clan, she had a special place of honour, not just because she was the oldest daughter, but because of her fortitude, her warmth and her love for the family.
Third Aunt or Sam Yee was a totally different kettle of fish. She suffered from epilepsy, and when she had a fit, she was frightening – foaming in the mouth, rolled back eyes… But that is not the worse thing about her. She was a shudderingly bitter person. I have absolutely no idea how she became that way. My only excuse for her is that her falls may have damaged her brains.
Sam Yee loved the rediffusion – the only source of Cantonese melodramas before TVB serials became available. Sam Yee would sit directly underneath the box, and yatter along, sneering at the villains, and equating my Tai Yee with them. She was the hero of course. Somehow, she loathed my Tai Yee and everyone who took her side. Sometimes she got violent and would hit my aunt. She tried to make life so difficult, so unpleasant.
One day, I might write a short story featuring her character. I have no idea what made her so bitter. I heard her trying to justify her being unmarried, and often wondered if being single was a stigma she found hard to bear. She had huge eyes to begin with. After her cataracts operation, she had to wear some really awful glasses, the lenses of which made her eyes hugely malevolent.
I tried being nice and respectful to her. She was still an elder and deserved honour, my mum would remind me. I was from the next generation and had no place in judging her. Still, it was hard. Even my mild-mannered mum would be provoked to defend my Tai Yee and once even fought with her.
Then there is 9th aunt or Kow Yee. The youngest living in that household, she was the only driver. That was amazing freedom for her, and made her the errand girl of the household. Kow Yee is a beautiful lady and even into her late thirties, had suitors coming after her, knocking on the doors of No 10. For some reason, she shied away from marriage, and turned all away. Much later, I think she regretted that, but she probably left it a little late.
Kow Yee was a little livewire. She could drive, and hence she would take us everywhere. She loved to eat, and her joy was to buy food back. InPenang, portions were small – so we ate very frequently. Especially when out of town aunts came for a visit, Kow Yee would buy us breakfast from Pulau Tikus, morning tea break from the tok-tok meen (noodle hawker) seller that announced his arrival by clapping a wooden rattler, lunch was cooked by Tai Yee, tea from the Indian man selling curry puff and kueh kueh from his hand carried baskets, dinner by Tai Yee again, and supper – Chee Cheong Fun from Larut Lane. She was the one who brought us swimming, drove us toCameronHighlandsfor holidays or toIpohto visit Yee Chye and Taiping to visit Sook Ching. She was everybody’s favourite aunt. I can write an entire blog post about her.
Three aunts – such different temperaments. One could have been bitter, but chose to stay strong. She left her past behind, and instead of being a whiny widow, contributed to the family and made a mark. Another allowed bitterness to eat into her, and became the bane of the family. Yet another brought life and joy, a breath of fresh air, to an otherwise dull house simply by her generosity and love for the younger ones.
I remember visiting Kow Yee several years back. She is now living in a home. At that time, she was quite deaf, and dementia had already set in. I visited her with my husband. Weng Foon warned me she might not remember me. To my amazement, not only did she remember me, she remembered my husband and even asked about my children. I felt so touched. It confirmed what I already knew – this aunt loves me. Despite my being so faraway, and such an infrequent visitor, somewhere in the recesses of her memory, I still hold a fond place, was a pleasant part of her history.
What is life? We come and we go. Yet in our coming and going, we touch some lives and we scar others. May the evidence of my existence be one of touching more lives than scarring them.
Filed under: Celebrating Ah Por's birthday
Parents and little me with grandma outside no.10. Ah Por seen wearing her festive kwa
The family home was no.10…no not Downing Street but Loh Boon Siew Road. This house is as iconic to the Chew clan as No 10 is to the world. In fact we used to refer to it as No.10.
Every year, we would celebrate Ah Por’s birthday. Fortunately for us, her birthday coincided with the end of year school holidays. Hence everybody who could, would make a pilgrimage back to Penang. It was by far a bigger reunion for us than Chinese New Year.
A few days before her birthday, I would be getting all excited. There were very few cousins in my age group left in Penang. Youngest aunt (ee chye) had moved toIpoh. Sixth aunt (luk ee) lived first in Johore, then in KL. Ah Por’s birthday celebration was the only event that would get everybody to congregate. Hence, on the day of my cousins’ arrival, mum and I would be parked at no 10, and wait for the cars to arrive.
No.10 was not a mansion. It was somewhat an in-between sort of house – between the traditional Chinese homes of old, and the modern terrace house. The ceilings were high, there were two living areas, a central open air courtyard, and a rather large backyard.
There were only 3 bedrooms. Kou foo or 1st uncle had his own room, as befitting his status in the family. The back room was occupied by 3rd aunt (sam yee) who was eccentric and rather aggressively senile even though she was still fairly young. She was like Boo Radley from To Kill a Mockingbird – someone whom we all feared.
The front room was very roomy. The most memorable thing in the front room was the little peephole on the floorboard. The aunts told me that in the old days, young girls were not allowed to socialize if young men came to the home. Some of these young men could be suitors. So the ladies would peep through this hole to see who was coming to the house. How cool!
Anyway the room housed Grandma’s huge four poster bed – the type that you see in peranakan houses, though less elaborate. To us kids, it was cavernous. It was much higher than normal beds, and the bedding was very hard. Hence, it did not require much prompting for us to clamber onto the bed, and made it our playground. The game I remembered the best was one that a much older cousin, Ching jie jie, invented. She would sit on the bed, legs crossed, a stick in her hand, and pretend to be a hermit shifu in her cave. There she would espouse words of wisdom to us juvenile cousins, and send us into the kungfu world to be robin hoods and heroes. We obeyed our kungfu master with respectful subservience.
The cousins I looked forward to seeing the most were luk yee’s children. This was the most happening group as they appeared the most anglicized. They seemed to enjoy the most freedom. I hear them talking and laughing and see them… heaven forbid dancing! Gosh – what decadence – what joy! These cousins, especially Lucia, would forever be joking. Yee Cheong and Luk Ee looked so happy together. Their very presence lifted the lonely atmosphere that pervaded no.10 most of the year.
Besides, Theodore is one year my senior. I had always wanted an older brother to fight my battles, and he was the only one near enough to play that role. (After having my own kids, the oldest being a boy, I realize that the older brother hero concept is a myth that originated from Enid Blyton’s books!)
Weng Foon is 3 years my junior – daughter of my ee chye. Ee chye was the youngest of the family, the 10th daughter, and the 13th child. Grandma had 13 children, but one daughter – the seventh, died as a child. How incredible to have such a huge family.
Weng Foon, in those days, was something of a brat. She was so cute, so fair, that all my aunts doted on her. I on the other hand was dark, gawky and somewhat clumsy. Hence I was the one who would get into trouble, while Weng Foon would escape scott free. Theodore and the rest, were treated as rare guests and never suffered any ire. I and another male cousin my age, Seng Chye, would bear the brunt. Theodore simply could not stand this injustice, and would often fight with Weng Foon in an attempt to right a wrong. Now do you wonder why he is my hero? And why I still remember him so fondly?
Night time was a real party. With so many people in town, I would often refuse to go home. So imagine the no in the front room! Usually it would house my grandma, 6 of my aunts, 5 – 7 female cousins, depending on how many could make it to town. We all slept on the floor, packed tight, giggling through the night at the sound of the night symphony courtesy of the fairly rhythmic snoring – the double base from Kou Foo (maternal uncle), the tenor from the yee cheongs, (yee cheong = husband of maternal aunt) who would be in the next room combined with the alto and soprano ‘breathing’ of aunties. It was louder than any rock concert!
In the day, the younger cousins would have a blast – playing hide and seek, going to the beach or simply just play ‘catching’ along the streets. Once my cousin Theodore was playing slipper football, and kicked his slipper so hard it landed on the roof of no. 2. We had to apologise to the neighbour, and sheepishly confess our misdeeds to the aunts, heaping coals of wrath on our heads.
In the evening we would walk to Gurney Drive. It was wonderful just to talk nonsense with my cousins. I mean as an only child, for me this was like a being let loose in Willie Wonka’s chocolate factory. Gurney Drive had only very few stalls then – a kacang putih stall, maybe a soyabean stall and a rojak stall. There were the usual restaurants of course, but we did not really have that much money to splurge. We were content with the occasional ice cream and just spending time together. Will post about Gurney Drive another day, or else this story will never end.
Anyway, on D-day, we were supposed to be on our best behaviour. In the morning, all of us would be scrubbed clean and queued up to make the birthday greetings. Not just happy birthday! We had to say the auspicious greetings such as:
Nin nin yau kum yat, shui shui yau kum chew (every year there is today, every age have this morning – it’s a longevity greeting duh)
Fook you dong hoi, Sau bei lam shan (your prosperity is like the eastern ocean and your longevity is comparable the southern mountains)
Those were the only two I could manage! Haha. This would be followed by a sweet drink with red dates, longans, gingko nuts, lotus nuts and an egg. We all had to eat the egg which represented life. The afternoon, the aunts would be really busy, leaving us unsupervised. That was when we often got into trouble. One year I remembered falling and scraping my knees really badly. Apart from applying concentrated iodine on my badly scraped knee and causing agony, I knew the worst was still to come. No, not caning – something worse.
When evening swung around, and when every body had gathered, it was time to serve my Ah Por her tea. Grandma would sit on her black wood chair, dressed in her kwa. She looked regal. In front of her was a coconut husk mat – donno why they did not use softer mats. Starting from the oldest, ie my kou foo, we would have to kneel and serve tea. Then she would give each a hong bao. When it came to my turn, I winced, and gingerly let myself down. It was an auspicious occasion, and I was not allowed to cry, or show any form of negativism. So I had to grit my teeth and offered more greetings to Ah Por as the very scratchy coconut husk fibre cut into my wounds.
With that over, dinner was served. What a meal. What a ruckus. The elders had their own table, and we inferior beings had to troop over to their table and speed greet all of them. The faster that was done, the sooner we get to eat. Greetings should be done according to rank – ie the highest ranking greeted first. So we had to begin with our uncles and aunts and their respective spouses. Then we still had to greet cousins older than us, and be greeted by those younger. So much fun. The greetings went like this
Kou foo sek fun (maternal uncle eat rice – the traditional greeting)
Ee kou sek fun (2nd maternal uncle eat rice)
Ee kam sek fun (2nd maternal uncle’s wife eat rice)…on and on
.For me it would end with Theodore kor kor sek fun!
Now we did not wait our turn to speak – or else with so many of us, it would take forever. So we tried to out do each other in terms of volume and speed. Somehow, the adults were not annoyed, but seemed rather please with buzz.
Then we hurried back to our table. The food was delicious. Better yet, there was free flow of soft drinks – what a treat! What fun!
I really miss family gatherings like these. My children still experience a watered down version during Chinese New Year at my husband’s uncle’s place. But it was no where as cosy or as noisy as my days in no. 10.
Filed under: Family Stories and tributes, life with fourth aunt | Tags: ayer itam, char kuay teow, life in the sixties in penang
I spent a year living with fourth aunt and her family. I was six years old then.
mum, sei yee, yee cheong and tong kor kor
Of all the aunts, I think mum was closest to fourth and sixth aunt – hardly surprising since she was no. 5. My aunts were real characters. Sixth aunt told me she ran away from home to pursue her own life and career, and only returned much later. I must ask my cousins the details when I next see them.
Fourth aunt married fairly early – as was the tradition then. According to my cousin from 2nd aunt, fourth aunt was fierce, and she was terrified of her. To me, though, 4th aunt was aloofly warm – if you can understand what I mean.
The thing I remember best about her was her fabulous cooking. Of all my aunts, I think sei yee (Cantonese for 4th aunt) was the best and most natural cook. She worked magic with all her dishes. I remembered helping out in the kitchen, pounding spices with the pestle and mortar – and often shooed away from that post cos I was not strong enough to get the consistency she wanted. My eyes would tear from peeling shallots, my fingers would swell from being poked by prawn feelers, or burn from cutting chillies.
Sei yee worked every dish from scratch. Watching Australian Junior Masterchef, I wish I had the sense to pick up her cooking skills, rather than simply obeyed instructions like a brainless kitchen helper. I could have been a brilliant cook too!
The kitchen smelled divine, with the various curry pastes. Each meal took hours to prepare, and since we neither had gas nor electric stove, the kitchen was often smoky. The choreI loved the best was fanning the coals till it burst into flame. I guess there is an arsonist in the soul of every child!
street stall near the ayer itam market
We owned no fridge, so going to the market was a daily affair. When I did not have school, it was quite fun to go with my aunt. It was always noisy and very happening with all sorts of stalls, from selling trinkets, to all manner of street food.
Eating chicken was a treat, and whenever we bought chickens, sei yee would thrust her hand into a basket, grabbed a chicken and pressed near the soft bone to test its fleshiness. Then the chicken seller would slit the throat, drained the blood into a bowl and threw the bird into a drum-like device. A few swirls later, a de-feathered chicken would appear. Such magic!
Of all my cousins living at home, I was closest to Ah Kuen jie jie. She was attached, but not yet married, and stayed home rather than worked outside. The two of us were sei yee’s main kitchen slaves.
One of my most vivid memories was when Ah Kuen jie jie was tasked to slaughter a chicken. Occasionally, we had one or two chickens in the backyard – either gifts from some visitors who reared them, or bought early for some festival, since the market would be closed during the time. In any case, my cousin was quite squeamish about slaughtering the chicken by herself – usually sei yee did that on her own. If I remember correctly, auntie was not home. My cousin simply could not bring herself to catch the chicken and slit its throat at the same time. My memory gets a little hazy here, cos it was a traumatic affair. I seem to recall one of us saying it was cruel to pin the chicken down and then kill it. We should let it have a chance to escape death (how ridiculous! As if sei yee would ever let it live!). So I vaguely recall ah Kuen jie jie running after the chicken a chopper in hand, both of us giggling hysterically. Somehow or other, she managed to chop the head off. But the chicken kept running round and round still. By that time my laughter had turned into terrified tears.
mum, ah yuet jie, 9th aunt, ah kuen jie, yee lin, ah hing jie, suet lin, chee chong, yee cheong, 1st uncle
I do remember my other cousins too. Ah Yuet jie jie was married, and always looked beautifully glamorous whenever she visited. Her husband played the Spanish guitar beautifully. Sometimes he would bring it with him, and I would just sit there and gawk. Ah Hing jie jie worked in a bank – and she drove a little car to work. She stayed at home but I barely saw her since she worked on the mainland, and spent most of the day away.
As for my male cousins, I remember the youngest one the best. He was in secondary school and very athletic. He spent a lot of time playing with the neighbourhood boys. Sometimes my auntie would get so exasperated at his disappearance that she would go in search of him, cane in hand. When she spotted him, she would first shout, then prepared to hit. Ah Tong kor kor was an athlete, and many a time I would see him run in the front door, and out the back, with my slightly portly, not too young auntie huffing and puffing after him. Ah Kuen jie and I would stifle our giggles for fear of turning sei yee’s wrath on us instead!
Yummy Penang Char Kuay Teow
Sei yee taught me to be independent. At six, I was often tasked to go to the shops, on my own, to buy things she needed. I had to buy spices, or bread, or even to buy coffee from the nearby shops. She made sure that there was no crossing of road, since the road in front of the house was very busy. The sar hor fun and char kuay teow stalls however were across the road. So whenever she wanted to buy those, I had to walk till I was immediately across the road from the stall. Then I had to shout my orders at the hawkers. If you find my voice loud, you now know the reason why! Still, I was too young to be embarrassed, and the yumminess of the food made me quite eager to obey actually.
Living with sei yee was a blast. I just saw some of her children when I went up toPenanglast week. It brought back so many memories.
I may not be rich or famous, but I certainly had a varied and interesting life.
There are some phone calls you will never forget. One such came on the morning of June 10, 1990. I was alone in the house with Jon (6), Samantha (3) and Sarah who was just 2 weeks old. My maid had gone to the market, and Alan had gone on a Car Treasure Hunt with his siblings, Jef and Sue.
“Sok Liang, Dad says he’s dying,” my mum-in-law said in a really calm voice.
“He wants to call the pastor,” she continued.
I was flabbergasted. Dad had been critically ill for a while now, but how could he know he was dying? Besides, the English congregation had gone to Malaysia on a church retreat. Furthermore, it was a Sunday, and the remaining pastors were busy at service or some other duties. I could not leave the house until my maid came home, could not call the siblings who were out – the mobile phone had not been invented yet, and the pagers were only used by a precious few. I think I called Kenneth, the eldest. I think I called the church – I cannot even remember what exactly happened any more. The long and short of it is the retired, elderly lady pastor –Rev Tan came. Dad passed on in the middle of her prayer – as peaceful and as prepared as only the most blessed can be.
Dad was a blessing in my life. In him I saw what a husband could be, what a father was like. He was everything by way of relating that my 爸爸 was not. He was openly affectionate and was able to talk to us, not as an adult to child, not insisting he was right, but with an ear to listen and a deep chuckle when we were silly. He made me feel comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong. Dad was no angel. His short temper was legendary. None of us dared to bring him to any famous stalls with long queues. He would walk out in a rage, and scold us for wasting time and money on such silly food. He had been known to get so upset with his sister, our Auntie Violet, that even in the middle of a Malaysian highway, would stop the car and asked her to get out. When the tantrum was over, we could all laugh at it, but when he was in a rage, all we could do was cower, and wait for the storm cloud to pass.
Dad was a very capable man. He earned a scholarship to study engineering in England, and eventually became the Chief Engineer in the Public Works Department. He was no yes-man though, and we suspect that he would have risen even higher, if he would only toe the line.
Life had not been easy on Dad. When he was young, his father left home because of a second family. Then my brother-in-law was nearly killed in a freak accident. A tree branch fell on his motorcycle as he was riding. He was in a coma for a spell. That was when my parents-in-law became Christians. They saw the love of the community of believers, taking turns to visit and to pray for him. In case any reader is worried, Jef is the fittest of the siblings today!
1987 must have been a terrible year for him. That was the year Kenneth and Jenny were incarcerated for being participants in a ‘marxist conspiracy’. It was even more painful when Kenneth was re-arrested in 1988. This was a traumatic period in our lives. It was agonizing to watch Kenneth and Jenny on TV, saying things we knew they were forced to say. None of us dared to talk about it, not sure if verbalizing our emotions would jeopardise Ken’s chance for freedom.
This is what makes me respect Dad so much. Despite the bitter lemons, dad did not allow it to fester and ruin his relationship with his loved ones. I never hear him reproach anyone for what happened. He still exhibited a very pleasant disposition – when he was not in a temper, that is, a ready smile, a ready laugh. Thus despite the pain, the family is still warm, caring and welcoming.
My sweetest memories of dad must be his lime juice. Whenever he knew we would be visiting, he would buy limes and squeeze them and make the best lime juice ever. There were also the lovely tea sessions – just a teapot of Earl Grey, perhaps some biscuits, and a yatter and gossip about some distant relatives. Saturday lunches were a tradition. Mum and Dad would drive to Kandahar St, buy rendang, chicken rendang and other padang dishes from Sabar Menanti, and the entire family would enjoy a yum meal, and great conversation around the table.
The late eighties were difficult years for Dad. They also brought him joy. 1984 he saw his first grandson. You should see Dad bully him. Whenever Jon visited, and fell asleep, Dad, without fail, would try to wake him up. Jon hates to be woken up – even today! You should hear the wails! 1987 he was blessed with Samantha – his first grand-daughter. 1989, Kenneth’s daughter, Jeanette was born. Two weeks before he died, Sarah was born. I believe he waited for this grand-daughter, knowing well that his days were numbered. I felt at 
peace, glad that I had brought her to visit him, that he had seen and touched this grand-daughter before passing on to eternity.
One of the fondest memories we have was when as a family we stayed at a Fairy Point Bungalow. Being a civil servant before, family vacations were often spent in government owned bungalows. We rented this huge bungalow that overlooked the Changi Sailing Club. The afternoons were spent drinking tea in the garden, and looking at yachts trying to berth. There was one lost yachtsman, who went round and round in circles, to our merriment. There was also a slope that led to the sea. Grandpa would bravely bring Samantha down for a swim. To this day, if you ask Samantha what she remembers of Grandpa, she would say that he brought her swimming.
Dad truly was a wonderful husband, father and grandfather. We all miss him, including Jenny and I, the daughters-in-law. We wish he could have been around to see the other two grandchildren, Jenny’s Jessica and Efrem. We just wish he could still be alive today. But how many men can predict their final hours like dad did? How many had the privilege of being able to get a pastor to pray even as they go? That is truly a blessing. God had shown His hand in taking Him away. What more can we ask for?
But we still miss him.
爸爸came to Malaysia when he was fairly young. Grandpa was the headmaster of a school in Swatow, so 爸爸 was pretty well-educated. However, as with many families in China, the dream was to send a son out to south-east Asia, in the hope of making a better living.
One of the biggest regrets in my life was not asking more questions. In a sense, a part of my history is a vacuum, something that really should not be so. Hence, I am embarking on writing down as much as I can, so that my children will not have similar regrets one day.
Vaguely, I recall 爸爸 mentioning a younger brother and his family. Grandpa had died, and I knew the existence of grandma – who wouldn’t if you had a huge, black and white photograph of a grim looking woman, staring blankly at you as you slept in your bed at night. She did not look friendly – just dour, stern and frankly quite scary.
爸爸 inherited her intense eyes. In many ways, the sojourn to Malaysia did not bear much fruit for him. He began, I believe, as a rural Chinese school teacher, which could not have paid much. He did have ambition, and I believed he tried his hand at several businesses which failed. This all happened before I was born, and I think his failures not only broke his spirit, but also became a bone of contention between him and my mother. But that is another story.
爸爸 was an extremely intelligent man. He was highly philosophical and could debate many issues with passion and logic. His abacus skills were something to behold- I simply watched as his fingers flew. Hence he occasionally worked as accounts clerk in some Chinese companies. He was also a great calligrapher, and was often called upon to write the characters for the banners of shops. He tried to impart both skills to me. Though I excelled in school, getting distinctions here and there, I was a total dud. I only managed to add using the abacus. As for calligraphy, he bought me some calligraphy practice books – those with outlines so that I could learn the strokes. Apart from learning how to hold the brush properly – you would too if you get your fingers rapped for not doing so, I really showed no interest. I suppose as an “elite” of the time, all things Chinese were held with some disdain – we were going to conquer the world with English! I remember him blowing his top when he checked my work one day, and saw that instead of using proper strokes, I had simply coloured the characters in. How stupid of me. Hence he always called me “ang moh sai” – such a derogatory term that if you do not understand teochew or hokkien, I am not going to explain the meaning. All I can do now is to lament the loss of opportunity to learn.
Although he may not be successful in the sense of wealth and position, 爸爸 was very well respected. He was deeply loyal, and would go out of the way to help a kinsman in need. Hence when he had needs, many would come, people that my mum and I did not know, to offer help, to buy him a meal or just simply to have tea with him. I remember how a friend was suffering from high blood pressure. 爸爸 took the trouble to buy expensive fish maw – something that we could barely afford for ourselves and insisted that he took them. He knew of the importance of omega 3 before it became a hype, and his friend recovered. Yet it was this same selflessness that got my mum a little upset. We were not rich, mum was a Chinese school teacher and earned a meager salary. Dad also earned little, when he had a job. What little he earned though often went to friends in need or was sent home to China. Selflessness yes, but in a way, he was also irresponsible. I suppose, his sending money home stemmed from a guilt- that he had a better life than his relatives, that he was unable to go home to visit because of financial lack, and his failure in making good.
I did not appreciate it then, but 爸爸 loved me intensely. He could not offer me much by way of luxury or gifts, but there were so many sacrifices he made for me. From something as simple as cleaning my school shoes to buying mud crabs and not eating any so that I could have more. Where mud crabs were concerned, he would not just cook it for me. He would sit there with me, and peeled the shell, so that I could just enjoy the meal. It gave him great delight to watch me just enjoying my meal. He was always constantly worried for me. If I went out with friends at night – which happened very rarely because my parents were so paranoid, and I hated to worry them, he would walk out to the main road, and waited for hours, so that he could walk me in. My house did not even have a landline, so I could not call in if I were delayed. That used to make me angry, as if I could not be trusted. Looking back however, I now know that it was not something he could help- he was just an anxious father.
In his own way, he was very proud of me and my achievements. Yet he was disappointed too, that this Chinese girl could not even handle Mandarin as all Chinese should. He felt that I had given up a heritage instead of embracing it and being proud of it. Though many admired the fact that as an English–educated girl whose second language 
has to be Bahasa Malaysia, I could speak Mandarin reasonably well, to my 爸爸, my language ability was patois at best. Sorry 爸爸.
As for me, I feared him more than I loved him. Being a conservative Chinese father, open demonstrations of affection was unheard of. That plus the fact that he was often away, and he spoke with such intensity, I just could not feel comfortable in his presence. That too is lost opportunity for me – I lost the opportunity to show him the love I am sure he craved, but was unable to convey.
He died when I was 6 months pregnant. The happiest memory for him was my wedding. How I wish he could live long enough to see his grandson. He would be disappointed in his grandchildren too. Haha – their Chinese ability is pathetic to say the least. Yet he would be sooo proud of them too. My 爸爸 could play the erhu and the guzheng. I can imagine my son wanting to learn from his 公公。
It is father’s day soon. I just want to say to 爸爸 something that I have never ever verbalized. I love you, and I honour you. You have made such a difference in my life, and I am grateful.
For those of you whose father is still alive, forget the hype of presents and dinners. Go and give your dad a hug, and tell him you love him.
