Sopstories

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.