Getting Back To Business

Sometime in February, I mentioned about a situation I was facing and promised to share more when I could. The time has come.

As you probably know, my father was a businessman and a teacher. He ran a private school here which he started from scratch in 1957, about 12 years before I was born. He started by renting a classroom from a Government school and with what little he had, bought one table, one chair and one typewriter. He taught typwriting to students, one at a time in two hour blocks. This went on daily from Monday to Saturday. Slowly, one typewriter became two and two became four. A few years later, he successfully ran a few schools where the student population reached thousands. His speciality? Commercial subjects.

He enjoyed his work as a teacher. Many students that came his way could not qualify or afford to further their education at the University. He taught them, class by class, and encouraged them to sit for examinations through prestigious examination bodies based in London. Many students did very well and this allowed them to apply for good jobs commanding high salaries. A few of these students who called me after hearing of my father's passing expressed their gratitude to him and the school he ran. I always knew that my father was a teacher but it is only after he died that I learnt how much of an impact he had made in his students' lives.

When my father passed away, I was a mess. The school was in no better shape than I was. This was because over the last 10 years, he didn't do much to upkeep or improve the school. Increased competition did not help, of course. The root cause was the loss of my mother, whom he originally taught at the school, fell in love with after, married and became his "business partner". Her death took quite a toll on him and this reflected in the poor performance of the business. A part of him died when my mother died. So did the school.

Before he died, my father expressed his desire for the school to continue to operate past his time. This was a tough call for me when he died. Having lost my father, saddled with a mountain of hospital bills and loans, my regular work as an Engineer and a baby on the way, the last thing I needed on my plate was a business that was hanging on a thread. So, I went in and fixed what I could to the best of my limited abilities and experience and handed it off to a distant relative of my father's, a young and enthusiastic fellow. While it pained me to give up something that was so dear and invaluable to my father, I was left with very little choice. Some nights in the darkness of my room, I'd just lay in bed thinking how I've severely disappointed my father.

In February this year, I was called in to help with this very relative's employment renewal and upon probing into the status of the school, I found that it was in trouble. This was contrary to what he was constantly portraying to me. Finances were a mess, the workflow I put in place was not adhered to and the school was slowly sinking into the red. When I handed the school to him, I hoped he would look after it like his own (considering he initially tearfully begged me for a job there) and get things off the ground. Sadly, nothing was done and he ran it like an employee without a boss. My father's years of sweat and blood was sinking deeper and deeper. To make matters worse, my wife, who was helping me tidy up the accounts recently, found that he had been borrowing business funds for his personal use when he found money was tight for him! I had enough!

As of 1 June, I have reprised my role as Managing Director of the school, just the way my father wanted it to be. I am slowly putting things back to order and am in the midst of revamping the business. It is a very long and tiring process where I am constantly banging my head against the proverbial brick wall. But I hope that my father, wherever he may be, will guide my hand in bringing his business back from the brink to what it was reminiscent of in the old days.

This year, the school celebrates its 50th anniversary. I wish my father were here to celebrate it with me. I know I can never have this wish granted so I now ask to be blessed with the strength and determination to keep it going successfully for 50 years more.

My apologies for the lengthy post. Wish me luck.

No Turning Back

Its been almost a month since I've come by to deposit my thoughts and considering I have a little time and sanity today, I thought I'd dust off the ol' keyboard and offload some of the things that have been bugging me.

I always thought I made good decisions in life. Be it something as trivial as buying the next amazing tech gadget or something as life altering as a career move. Lately, I've come to doubt myself in making these decisions.

For example, when I was 24 and just graduated with a Diploma in Electronics and Computer Engineering, I had a choice of one of two paths. The first was one that I dreamed of walking down and being on for the rest of my life - being a radio presenter / deejay. I had the voice (back then, of course), the knowledge and love for music and the lack of fear of the hundreds of buttons, slide controls and flashing lights in a studio. The other, a less glamorous life of being a Computer Engineer.

I grit my teeth and chose the latter for a couple of reasons, mainly because of my father's advice to his playful only son. He said "If you're as good a deejay as you say you are, you can always return to it at any time. But if you leave Engineering now after just graduating, you will find it difficult to get back into it." With all the technical advancements happening around us so quickly, his words were spot on.

Although I don't regret my decision even though I wish I were more excited about my work, lately I've been asking myself "What if I had chosen to join the radio station?" Fame? Riches? Get booted off the air for saying something inappropriate? I don't know and never will. Why? Even if I chose to leave Engineering for good and head back into the deejaying arena, no one in their right frame of mind will employ a pudgy and balding 37 year old jock who's voice is starting to sound a little raspy.

My point is, we often come to a crossroad in life and any of the paths we chose to take is most frequently not paved with U-turn signs. So, when we embark down that road and find that it is not really suited for us, there's no turning back.

Why the topic? I have been re-evaluating my choices in life and wonder if I've made mistakes along the way. Sadly, a lot of these have ended up with "yes" answers and there's no turning back now. I'll share more of these in upcoming posts.

As I always say when I reappear after vanishing for awhile, The Premster is back. But the outlook is gloomy.

Burden Of Reality

Last night, I watched a late night movie on the tele called "Barbershop". I think it was released in 2002 and it starred some pretty well-known rappers and actors like Ice Cube, Cedric The Entertainer and Eve.

It tells the story about a guy named Calvin (Cube) who runs a barbershop that was passed down to him after his father passed away. He works hard to keep it going but is not very successful. After two years, he decides that he has had enough and sells it to an unscrupulous man who initially promises him to keep the barbershop going but later does not keep his end of the bargain and plans to turn the barbershop into a gentlemen's club. Calvin does not realise how important the barbershop is to him until his wife reminds him of how much it meant to his father and how so many people in their community depend on the barbershop not just for their hair-cut but to keep the cohesiveness of the community intact.

On any other occassion, this would have been just another movie but recently, certain developments made the storyline tug at my heart heavily. Although I am not sure of what the outcome of my situation is going to be but I can say upfront that either decision will be painful - one physically, one mentally.

I promise to share more when I can.

Value Of Life

How much is "life" worth? I'm not referring to the popular magazine sold around the world.

About 15 years ago, I was a fan of a show called Northern Exposure and in an episode titled "Ill Wind", Maurice (a self-centered retired astronaut) was angry that Chris (the town's radio deejay) saved him from falling off a building. Maurice's anger stemed from the fact that he felt he was now unduly indebted to Chris. He asked Joel, the town's only doctor, "What is the price of a human body?". Joel tells him that his University professor did a similar study and came up with US$29. "I knew life was cheap!", came Maurice's flippant response.

I've been thinking a lot about life these days and this has put me in a solemn mood. Perhaps it is because I am turning 37 tomorrow. Perhaps it is because this will be the first birthday in 37 years I won't have my father with me - nor will he be for the rest of my birthdays. Or perhaps it is because of how people close to me talk about dying as if it was as simple as flicking a switch.

My wife and I spent a good six months of 2005 in hospitals - visiting, that is. A total of three of my family members, including my father, were in hospital. My father spent the longest time there starting in May till he passed on in January this year. One of the two relatives was in as a result of an infected toe because of diabetes - infected to the point that doctors recommended amputation. "If they amputate my toe, I'll kill myself", he said back then. He didn't go through with the surgery and by God's grace, his toe has healed somewhat. Last week, we chatted again as usual. Over the last few months, his eyesight was failing as a result of diabetes again. "If I go blind, I'll definitely kill myself" came his finite reply.

While I do feel sad for him, a single man over 50 and living alone, I can't help feel angry at his constant proclamation about ending his life, even though he has the support, albeit minimal, of the family. Why am I angry? Read on.

My father walked in and was admitted to hospital on 12th May 2005. He was scheduled to stay only for a few days for observation. This escalated into a major spinal issue and everything went downhill from there - putting him into a wheelchair and unable to walk or stand on his own. Doctors talked about surgery but were too afraid to operate initially because of the delicate nature of the surgery and my father's age. They said there was a possibility that he would not make it through the surgery. I tried hard to catch my breath when I heard those words. I talked to my father about the only high-risk option available to him. After listening to me, he said "Let's do it. I'll be ok". When I asked him if he was sure, he said "Definitely!". I made the arrangements with the doctors despite fearing the worst and true to my father's words, he made it through. Even his doctors were amazed at his will-power. "He a real fighter", the surgeon told us. "That's my Dad.", I replied.

He was in severe pain from the surgery with tubes coming in and out of him at the ICU. But through his groaning, he would enquire if I had eaten or if his office was being taken care of. And a few days after his surgery, he told me "I am looking forward to going back to my office". I smiled because I knew he would fight hard to get well. It was a load off my shoulders. At a point close to his full recovery where he was able to walk with help and support, he suffered a stroke which affected his left hand, left leg and his speech was impaired. I stood by his bedside and cried thinking how life could be so unfair to him especially when he was so close to his recovery. My father, on seeing the tears in my eyes, mumbled something which I could not understand at first. It was after a few attempts that I heard the words "I'll be alright very soon."

He left the hospital three months later still in a wheelchair after doctors said there wasn't much more they could do to help him. He celebrated his birthday two days later. After the small celebration was over that evening, he called me to his room to say that he wanted to go overseas to try other alternative treatments. "When do you want to go?", I asked. "As soon as possible", came his response. My wife and I made the arrangements and the three of us were on a plane two days later. While in flight, he said "I will not be bringing the wheelchair when I return."

My father made good progress while seeking treatment overseas. He even sent us photos of himself taken by family friends there showing him "walking" to his physiotherapy sessions and even raising his left hand to wave. I was very proud of him. He fought hard and almost won - until a massive stroke took his life.

Despite the fact that my father was an old man and at that point faced with the prospect of being wheelchair bound for the rest of his life, he worked hard to be free from his four-wheeled prison. Even when he was overseas, we talked over the phone and in-between conversations, he'd always say "I'm getting better. I'll be back soon." And in spite of the ordeal of the surgery, strokes and other complications along the way, I never once heard him say "I'd rather die". He did anything and everything he could to get well. God, I believe, had bigger plans for him.

Its no competition but my relative's suffering, in my opinion, pales in comparison to my father's. Still, he wants so much to end his life but my father's was taken even though he fought to go on. This, to me, is the greatest tragedy / injustice of all.

During my low days, I sometimes feel that life is too long a haul. But when I think of my father and how much he wanted to live, I feel shame to even entertain these thoughts. What I've gone through in life is nothing compared to what my father had to endure. And now that I have a son, I hope to bring him as much joy as my father brought to me - and for as long as I can. I believe my father persevered for the very same reason.

In the end, I guess its how much you value your life - not your existence.

Dedicated To My Father

A show of hands - how many of you men reading this are fathers in your 50s or older? Not many, I see. I guess that's because technology and the Internet age has zoomed right past our fathers without slowing down for them to jump on the bandwagon too. If it had, I'll bet my dad would have been quite the blogger, especially since he always had something intelligent to say about politics, religion, education, people and life in general. Instead of blogs filled with immature mindless dribble about how physically able people should not be barred from using restrooms meant for the physically challenged or poking fun at religion (no offense meant to others who share their honest and heartfelt opinions, thoughts and feelings), we would be reading about life experiences and learning from our fathers' mistakes. My father was no blogger but he was always enthusiastic about sharing his life stories and experiences with me over dinner or during our car rides together. In fact, I think he would have loved the concept of blogging because he spent many weekends writing his thoughts and worries in a "reporter's" notepad. About a year ago, I bought him 10 of those "reporter's" notepads because he decided on writing his life story. I am not sure if he managed to fill them all up but I recently managed to find one of his notepads labeled "volume 2" written in his handwriting. Unfortunately, I can no longer ask him where he kept the rest of his "work" because he passed away on 27 January 2006. So, I dedicate my very first blog entry in cyberspace to my father - a man who loved writing.

My father was born in India and came to Singapore to work for the British Army. Since his youth, he had a passion for learning and along with that passion came a desire to teach. So, after a short stint with the British Army, he ventured out into teaching and started his own classes. With his little savings, he bought a table, a chair and a typewriter. He rented a small classroom from a Chinese school back in the early 50s and taught typewriting to students in the evenings. Students would come for their scheduled lessons and learn to type on that typewriter. As his classes started getting popular, he bought another table, chair and typewriter so that he could accommodate more students keen to learn a valuable skill. Two typewriters became four and four became eight. In 1957, he decided to start his very own private school. His school was one of the first few private schools in Singapore and by the late 60s and early 70s, the typewriting classes were filled with at least 200 typewriters and students were still on the waiting list to join.

While my father's venture brought him much fortune, he was not really interested in money. His main aim was to educate people. If a student came saying that he could not pay his school fees, he'd still allow them to continue their study without charge. Many of his old students, whom I had the opportunity to talk to when they received word of my father's passing, told me these stories. Of course, they also told me that he was a very strict Principal and all his students feared him back then. I guess this was reflective of the importance he placed on education.

So, he was a strict Principal and educator. But was he a strict father? There is no correct answer to that. He was a no-nonsense kind of guy but he loved his children very much. When I was a young boy, we would drive down to town in his convertible and spent time hanging out at Robinson's buying an obscene amount of toys, much to the disgust of my mother when we returned home. On the way home, we'd stop at A&W (remember that fast-food place?) and both father and son would have a root beer float each. I'd usually get sick by the time i got home - root beer, ice-cream and a fast car without a roof is not a good combination for a small boy. Again, my mother would flip her lid. As loving as he was towards me, he would not tolerate me being rude to anyone or misbehaving in anyway. He taught me the importance of respecting elders and helping anyone in need if it is within my means. Whenever we passed by a beggar on the street (it was common back then), he would pass me a one-dollar note for me to hand it to him.

While my mother was a firm believer in the saying "spare the rod and spoil the child" and regularly replenished her stock of canes from the nearby market, my father only used the cane on me once in my entire life. And even when I got that one stroke from him at the age of 9, I still remember thinking how much I deserved it. My father called me from work to ask me about my homework. I cannot remember why but I got irritated and slammed the phone down without answering him. I knew immediately that I was in trouble but figured he would call me back, give me a good yelling over the phone and all would be well again. Ten minutes passed - no call. Twenty minutes passed - no call. This can't be good. Silent treatment? Noooo. After twenty-five minutes, I saw my father's car pull up in front of our house! My heart almost stopped. He got out, came into our house and walked right past me towards the kitchen. He fumbled for something there and came out with the cane in his hand and delivered one stroke. He threw the cane away on his way out, got into the car and drove back to work... all without saying a word to me. To this day, I remember my father's one "stroke". It was a lesson I will never forget.

My father's weakness was his passion for cars, and fast ones too. I guess that has rubbed off on me over the years considering the cars that I have owned. He was well-to-do back then and money was no object. If he saw a car he liked, he'd buy it. Of course, there was no waiting for COEs and all that jazz back then so if he decided to buy a car in the morning, it would be delivered in the evening. And as soon as he got home in his new car, he'd bring me out for a ride in it.

As with all good times, I've come to accept the fact that they never last. In the late 70s, my father lost a huge legal battle with his landlord due to a technicality and lost most of his hard-earned money. I remember that it was one of the biggest cases in Singapore's history back then - making the front page of the papers. My mother was devastated. But my father never flinched. The only time he showed any emotion about his misfortune was when he had to sell his convertible. But I know that he would never let it get him down for too long. Being an incurable optimist, his constant belief was that "things will definitely get better". So, till the day he became very ill, he frequently reminded me to look out for his favourite 1970 MG Triumph sports car in the newspapers or in car magazines under the "For Sale" category. I tried in vain. Sadly, I chanced upon a beautifully restored one for sale, a week after he passed away. I cried inconsolably.

Although he believed that the good times would return, he struggled till the very end. As a result of the legal battle back then, he had to work very hard to try to normalise everything again. He never really caught a break after that - having to face one set-back after another. I think the biggest blow for him was in 1995 when my mother passed away. You see, my mother was not only his life partner but his business partner at the school. In fact, that's where they met! My mother had come to the school to learn typewriting during the 60s and fell in love with the suave Principal. Hmmm.... Eventually, my mother became a teacher there too. So, they ran the business together. After she died, my father seemed to have lost his drive. But he carried on because of his love of teaching and did not want to disappoint students who came to his school wanting to learn. His not wanting to disappoint anyone also extended to his children. One morning a few days after my mum passed away, I overheard a conversation with a friend of my dad's who came to offer his condolences. Although I didn't her the question, my father's response was something I will never forget. He said "My only duty now is to ensure that my children do not feel the loss of their mother even for one second". And he kept to his word. When we got home, there was always food waiting for us. Clothes were washed and ironed even though it was my responsibility to do it. Marketing and shopping was done every weekend without fail. And if he found a button had fallen off from a shirt when he was ironing, it would be replaced. All this was done despite his 9 am - 9 pm work at the school.

My dad used to call me on my mobile phone from time to time when I am out and about. Once, a friend asked me "Who are you talking to? Your cousin?". "My father", I answered. "Wah, you talk to your father like talking to your buddy", came his response. Don't all sons talk to their fathers like friends? Apparently, not all. So, I posed this question to my father. His reply was "My father and I never spoke except when he wanted me to run errands. As a result, I became very frightened of him. So, I promised myself that when I became a father, I will not do the same thing to my son." I felt something tugging at my heart at that moment. It also reminded me never to take such blessings in life for granted.

Growing up, we all think our parents are invincible. We turn to them for everything, big or small. Every time they deliver, our belief in their invincibility is further strengthened until one of them dies - then that belief is shaken beyond repair. These thoughts hit me when my mother died. It was then that I became very fearful about losing my father. Sadly, that fear has become a reality for me. While it still hurts terribly to know that I will never again be able to see his reassuring smile, to hear his wise words of advice, to feel his hand on my forehead when he thinks I am not well, I know he is in a much better place than the one he has left me in. For almost a year, he suffered through major surgeries, painful procedures and two strokes before he died. But he bore them all bravely without complaint because he still believed that things will definitely get better. Now that he is with God and free from his tortured body, I guess he was right after all.

I will miss him forever.