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.

First Daddy's Day

I celebrated my first Father's Day yesterday.

It was bitter-sweet for me. Firstly, I still find it hard to believe that the young and mostly irresponsible fella has not only aged but become a Father. Getting old is one thing but to be a Daddy to a 10 month old boy is overwhelming, to say the least. There are many days when I feel that I've failed him miserably as a Daddy when work and other projects take up so much of my time. But what makes me feel terrible is that my little boy is so eager to forgive my neglect. His toothless smile and his casual "hey" (not sure where he picked that up) whenever he sees me says it all. To see those two reactions mean the world to me.

Yesterday, I also remembered when I celebrated Father's Day as a son. Two Father's Days have gone by since I lost my own Dad. I remember the days leading up to Father's Day where he'd remind me not to spend money unnecessarily. Not that he was reminding me about Father's Day (he knew I wouldn't forget) but he really didn't like the idea of money not spent wisely. I remember the usual warning he'd deliver. He'd say sternly "Don't go out and spend money on another watch!" Considering the number of watches I've bought him over the years, I think it was justified.

Guess what I got as a Father's Day gift from my wife and little boy?? A watch! (see picture)

Wherever my Dad is now, I'll bet he was laughing!

Happy Father's Day to all Dads out there.

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.

Birthday Blog

"Things That Fill My Head" is one year old today!

I never imagined that I would ever take blogging seriously as I figured it was more for the "new generation" out there and not for an old fogey like myself. To be honest, among the bloggers that I know, I'd have to be the oldest with an age deficit of at least 10 years! So, having a blog was never on my mind.

In January 2006, my father passed away. I struggled to come to terms with his demise. Till today, I am still struggling. Words spoken by my father and images of him haunted my mind every day. I knew I'd never get over my father's death no matter how long I live but I needed a way to manage my thoughts, feelings and memories before it got the better of me.

I remembered my father used to spend weekends penning his thoughts and feelings in a notebook (the paper kind). He even had one titled "My Worries". I figured that by offloading his worries into the notebook, it lightened the load on his mind. My father was a man who managed his thoughts and feelings very well and this was probably one of his "tricks".

Ok, I'll put my thoughts into words. But where? Then, the idea of a blog came up. So, I reviewed a few blog hosting services out there and within an hour, decided on Blogger. All I wanted to do was to find a simple way to put my thoughts into words. After all, I was certain no one would come across, let alone read, my blog - especially in a community as huge as Blogger. I picked a user name, after multiple tries (pratically all variations of "Prem" I could think off were taken!), and started on my first entry - one dedicated to my beloved father. It felt like the most appropriate thing to write about.

With my eyes glazing over, I sat at my desk and wrote about the man I loved and respected the most in my life. As the words flowed, so did the tears. Images and stories long forgotten came flooding back. A few lines quickly became a few paragraphs and before I knew it, my first entry was done. Honestly, I felt good talking about my father openly - even though no one was listening - or so I thought.

The next day, I checked my blog and found "1 Comment". Was someone reading? I quickly clicked on it and found a spammer (the comment is still there - just for laughs)! Oh well, better 1 meaningless "comment" than nothing at all. Next, I went on to write about my two doggies. I was not expecting anymore visitors, spammers or otherwise, but I checked back to find "royalty" had graced my blog with her visit. Princess, who used to go by the name Sparkling Princess, came by and posted a lovely comment about my dogs as well as to offer her condolences for my loss. I thought it was very sweet and thanks to her, I found my way to other honest and beautifully written blogs. Since then, unseen bloggers have become invaluable friends as we share our lives with each other. Even my wife talks about you guys as if we've been good friends for ages.

So, on this 1st birthday of "Things That Fill My Head", I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to Princess, Zizo, Dandoon, Vanessa, Ghasheema and last but not least Eshda3wa for making me feel very welcome in the blogging world and allowing me to share my life with you as you have shared yours with me. I am also very appreciative of my lovely wife who is very supportive of her husband's blog and my little boy for giving me something to write about.

Its been a fantastic year blogging! I look forward to more of them.

Cheers!!

Black Beauty

Back in 1997, I bought my first car. We've always had a family car and as the description implies, I got to drive it only when no one else was using it. So, this was the FIRST car I've owned. It was a 1990 Honda CRX. I saw the car when it first reached our shores and I fell head over heels in love with it immediately. Back then, I had just been enlisted in the armed forces to perform my "tour of duty". So, I promised myself that when I started working and could afford to own one, I'd buy it. And I did.

Of course, it was already 7 years old when I signed on the dotted line and brought my dream car back home. It was jet black, had a sun-roof (I love sun-roofs) and could go 0 to 100 km/h in well under 7 seconds. It was fast and definitely furious. However, the condition of the car was not great and I made it my personal mission to restore the car to its original glory. Even though I was drawing a small salary since I only had worked for a couple of years just after graduation, I spent every cent I had on it. New exhaust system, new interior trims, new tyres and rims, new all-leather sports steering and a mind (and ear-drums) blowing sound system. It was my pride and joy. Even when it was not driven, seeing it parked at my apartment's carpark from my room window would put a smile on my face.

For me, it was not about owning a flashy car. It was the joy it brought me during a relatively difficult time in my life. After spending so much money on it, there wasn't enough left to take it out to paint the town red on a Saturday night - or any other night for that matter. So, I took it for long drives on all the major expressways in Singapore almost every Saturday - like a date. With cool tunes loaded into the CD changer, my car and I would cruise down the highways - occasionally crossing the speed limits, which was a piece of cake for a CRX. Whatever problems I had on my mind would vanish as I enjoyed the breeze through the open windows and sun-roof and music by The Eagles, Candy Dulfer and Chicago - just to name a few. By the time I got home, my problems did not seem so significant anymore.

I swore that I'd keep and treasure my car forever. However, my dream car and I parted sooner than I had expected - after only 7 months. My father had some financial problems which he kept quiet about, not wanting to burden me, but eventually became to difficult for him. So, to help him out, I sold my black beauty, my dream car, my friend. My father knew how much the car meant to me and it saddened him deeply that I let it go. I still remember the pain I felt as I watched the new owner drive my pride and joy away. Standing on the side of the road watching the car disappear into the distance, a grown man of 26 years fought a futile battle to hold back the tears.

Why rehash old memories now, you ask? Well, I found the exact same model (same colour, same modifications) on sale on one of the local online car marts. I am not sure if it was the same car I had sold about 10 years ago. The thing is, there aren't many of this model on the roads anymore. As such, I have been eyeing it since February when it was listed. Sadly, I logged in on Monday to find that it had been sold. Even though there was no real intention to acquire it as a second car, the same pain I felt when I watched my CRX drive off almost a decade ago came rushing back. Again, I had to fight the tears.

The car represented a lot of things. It was the first major purchase I had ever made, it brought me immense joy, it relieved me from my problems and worries and helped me nurse a broken heart. But most importantly, it saved my family during a crisis.

And though I have been blessed to own a beautiful car that I love today, I will never forget that two door sports car that meant the world to me.

Picture above is a Honda (known as Accura in the States) CRX. I will post a picture of my car sometime soon.

Loss Of A Father

My father died a year ago today.

I still remember the day. It was two days to a major public holiday in Singapore and I was looking forward to it. I thought I could chill out from all the stress I was experiencing. I received a call from a relative overseas who was visiting my father in hospital there while I was at work. He said "I am sorry to tell you that your father is no more. He passed away about 15 minutes ago". At that instant, something inside of me died as well. Reality, as I knew it, was altered beyond recognition. I became an "orphan" without a father to turn to for advice or a mother for comfort. She died 10 years before. The feeling of lonliness was overwhelming. I rushed home to be with my wife because the emptiness was consuming me very quickly.

People tell me that time heals all wounds. People don't really know what they're talking about, do they? To me, it still feels like I lost him yesterday and although only one year has passed, it feels like 20 years has gone by. I sometimes wonder how I am to carry on life with this severe dent in my heart.

Fate can be so cruel. My father died in January and his Grandson was born in July. They missed each other by 6 months and 2 days. I never realised it till now but my Grandfather (my Mum's father) and I suffered a similar miss. He died in May and I was born in October the same year. My father would have loved to have met his Grandson and I'm willing to wager everything I have that nothing in his life would have topped his happiness. I still remember how he tried to contain his excitement when I first told him over the phone that we were expecting a baby. As always, he would not betray his cool and calm exterior but he failed miserably in trying to mask the excitement in his voice. And three days later, I received word that he suffered a severe stroke, never to regain consciousness again. As I said, fate can be cruel.

Everyone talks about lonliness. But you never truly experience lonliness until you realise that you no longer have anyone to speak for you or defend you in life. It is a frightening path when you know you have to go it alone without any parental advice - no matter how old you are. It becomes worse when this is thrust upon you unexpectedly. And as I embarked into fatherhood still aching from the loss of my own father, I constantly ask my dad in prayer to guide me along the right path in life, to give me the strength to be a good husband and father and to be able to teach my son right from wrong so that he will grow up to be a respectable and honourable man - a man exactly like my son's Grandfather.

One year on, I've learnt the pain of his passing will never cease or diminish. But I hope that my father has found peace after struggling a great deal in life. Although I have not been the best of sons, I loved my father more than he ever knew and him not knowing will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Mike And The Mechanics' "The Living Years" has new meaning for me. A part of this song that makes my heart ache goes :

I wasn't there that morning
When my father passed away
I didn't get to tell him
All the things I had to say.
I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
I'm sure I heard his echo
In my baby's new born tears
I just wish I could have told him
In the living years

Till the time comes for me to see my father again, he will be sorrowfully missed.

A Strange Day

Today was a strange day - in a good way, that is.

I didn't get much sleep to begin with and by the time I was out of bed, I had only clocked about 4 hours of shut-eye. I had to go out early because I had some arrangements to make in preparation for my father's first death anniversary prayers. According to our custom, the first death anniversary is the most important and special rituals should be performed.

I went down to the temple and met with a staff who helped with the arrangements. He gave me a list of things to buy and since the prayers will be held day after tomorrow and some of the items are perishables, I decided I'd go get them tomorrow instead.

Since I had already lost sleep and was out and about, I decided to get my car stereo fixed. It was getting a little screwy and appeared to have a mind of its own. The 'on' button became the 'volume down' button, the 'input source' button became the 'off' button and so forth. Operating it was a game of chance and since its display wasn't working either, you wouldn't know what station you were on or what CD or track it was playing from the changer.

Getting back to the point. Since I had sent this unit in for repairs for the exact symptoms previously (paid a bomb for repairs and waited 3 months for the job to be done), I figured getting a new one would be worthwhile. So, I picked one out (with my wife's over-the-phone blessings) and they proceeded to install it. You would think that something like this would actually excite me. But it didn't. At that moment, an over-powering urge to be with my son came over me. I don't know why but that's exactly how I felt.

So, after hurrying the technicians repeatedly, I hopped in my car and rushed home. And when I came through the door, there he was - flashing his toothless grin at me as I entered. We spent a good 20 minutes together 'chatting' until our domestic helper came with his milk bottle again! Anyway, he did appear hungry so I handed him over.

I've always felt a bond with my son. But I never felt that bond as strong as it was today. Maybe, preparing for my father's death anniversary reiterated my need to always be there for my son - like my father was for me.

It was a strange day. But it was nice.

Closure

Would you believe that this is my 100th post? I had originally planned for my "centennial" post to be up on 1 January 2007 but alas, things that are planned rarely work out. Or is it just me? Hmmm....

Anyway, at the end of the year, I kept thinking about what a fellow blogger (you know who you are) said about "closure". For me, I've heard the term used on TV shows frequently but never put much thought into what it really meant or how it would affect one's perception of the future. So, "closure" was just another word I knew but did not fully understand.

In 2004, as a result of a mistake by a friend, my father's company was sued for over S$10,000 due to copyright infringement. At that time, intellectual property was something that was just surfacing and being taken seriously in Singapore but no one really knew what it entailed or where the boundaries were. It was an honest mistake and when we found out, we rectified the situation - 8 months before the legal notice was served. But that did not deter the plaintiff from arm-twisting and threats despite my meetings with them to explain the mistake, with irrefutable proof, as well as my father's financial position. As it turned out, there was no room for negotiations. The Director I met with, a burly man, seemed to take pleasure in seeing helpless people writhe in fear of legal consequences. When I say "people", it was not just my father's company that was affected. Newspaper reports indicated more than 500 companies have had letters of demand ranging between S$10,000 and S$100,000 shoved down their throats.

We didn't have much to go on and my father had no choice but to give in to their demands - in 12 installments. This bought me time to do some digging into this company's background. My hunch about the company paid off and I confronted them head on with my findings. After three paid installments, they backed off. But the fact that one human being can stand by and watch another human being suffer without any room for compassion, sympathy or understanding scarred me permanently. That "bad taste in my mouth" seemed like it would never go away - until 24 November 2006, that is.

I read in the papers that a company was being sued for infringement of copyright by selling materials originally produced by a Government authority well after their original agreement had expired. The name of this company stuck out like a sore thumb to me. I couldn't believe that this same company, which previously sued 500 companies for copyright infringement, is now on the receiving end of the charge. The phrase "what goes around, comes around" had new meaning.

Upon reading this article, I suddenly felt a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders and my mind - a weight which I carried for so long that it became a part of me. I whispered "Wish you were here to see this day" to my Dad in the hope he would be looking down on me and sharing my joy. He knew how much this took its toll on me mentally and it was the last fight we fought together before he became ill and passed on.

I do not know what the outcome of the Government authority's case against this unscrupulous company would be but it is nice to know that although the wheels of justice may grind slowly, it is important to realise that they do grind.

And with that, I find closure.

A Sad Farewell

Last week, I sold my father's car. It was one of the last few things my father bought and treasured deeply before he passed on and marked a milestone in his life. As such, the keys were handed over to the car dealer with a very heavy weight on my heart.

A milestone? Well, my father was a car enthusiast as a young man - much like his only son. At a point in his life where he was financially well-off, he owned up to seven cars at a go. Most of them were regular cars but the one that he truly treasured was his MG Triumph convertible. And when bad times hit him, he lost all of them - including his beloved MG. Since then, he never really showed much excitement for cars and because of his financial position, he never got to buy a new car. Whenever the topic of new cars came up, he'd say "Any used car is fine. It is just for transportation." But his eyes would light up when we talked about convertibles. I knew he loved them and now that I can probably afford to buy him one - a used one, that is - my father is no longer around to grant me the honour to bring that special smile to his face... the same smile that I saw as a little boy when he started the sporty sounding engine of his British-made silver sports car. This will haunt me forever.

My father worked very hard. At his age where many elderly men were retired and enjoying the fruits of their labour, my father was still labouring. And as a result of his years of hard work and facing many adversities, he rebuilt his business and was finally able to afford a new car. I recall in May of 2003 (a Saturday), my father asked me to drive him to the local Kia showroom "just to see" the new models. I thought it would be fun. When we got there, he opened the door to a Kia Spectra on display and said "This one is spacious" and without enquiring much else, he called for the sales agent to draw up the sales agreement! I felt my chest tighten. I asked him nervously "Can we afford another car? We have to pay a sizeable downpayment!". His casual response was "I'm not afraid of a few thousand dollars."

This was not the voice of pride or arrogance. He had lost more than half a million dollars as a result of unscrupulous partners and legal issues in the 70s - eventually losing his MG - so this did not worry him too much. However, I panicked... without fully understanding that he had carefully set aside a budget for his brand new Korean-made sedan.

He bought the car because firstly, it was something he always wanted to do for a long time. Secondly, he wanted to be independent and get around without waiting for me to come pick him up but most importantly, he wanted my wife and I to spend more time together on our own instead of scheduling our time so that we could ferry him to and from work. However, his "independence" was short-lived when I insisted that he stop driving about a year later after a couple of accidents. And not long before this, I too had bought a new car after selling my 13 year old Nissan. So, my father's pride and joy sat in our apartment's car park waiting anxiously to hit the roads.

The car wasn't always just a spare vehicle. It came in handy when my father became ill last year when my wife drove it between work and the hospital to visit my dad everyday while I worked at his office during the day and headed to my regular job at night. It tranported my dear wife and our baby boy in her "tummy" to work and back till the day he was born - faithfully - without her having to worry about jostling with peak hour human traffic trying to cram into trains or brave long queues for taxis. The car that seemed like my father's extravagant purchase became a boon to the both of us. All it needed in return was a tank of petrol and a good wash once every two weeks.

When we decided to sell the car, it felt like we were abandoning a faithful soul. It pained us both deeply. But emotions aside, it was a financial burden with petrol prices, road-tax and insurance premiums being what they are today. So, for the sake of our financial future, we let it go. Although I feel like I let my father down somewhat, I think the loss is most felt by my wife. But as sad as we were, we were happy to learn that the car will not end up in the scrap yard but will be de-registered and exported to another country to begin a new lease of life. I am sure it will make another owner somewhere very happy too.

It may seem silly but I'd like to say "thank you" to a car that meant a great deal to all of us. I wish it be blessed with a caring owner and many more good years. Goodbye, my friend. We will miss you.

The Blue Blog

I've been feeling down over the last few days. Been thinking a lot about my Dad. So many things are happening around me and and I am constantly laden with everyone else's problems. Then, someone said something to me recently that hit a very raw nerve. I never saw it coming - so it really stung.

Because they are loved ones, I take their plight very seriously but everyone is too full of themselves to realise that their words and actions drain me physically and emotionally. In situations like these, I always turn to my Dad. I no longer can.

So these days, I turn to my blog to rant. When I logged in today, I noticed something I never saw before. My blog was blue - and a dark shade at that! It felt gloomy and miserable. So, I decided to spruce it up, thanks to the Blogger template designers.

The blue blog is gone. Ah... this looks a whole lot happier. What say you?

All Pooped Out

I was feeling a little blue on my birthday because this the first birthday without my Dad in 37 years. So, to cheer me up, my wife decided on a mini family outing - with our little boy. This is the first time he was actually going out with us and not headed to the doctor's for his monthly medical evaluation and vaccinations. I wasn't sure if it was a good idea, with the baby and all, but I thought a change to our weekend routine might help.

Although we only stayed out for about two hours or so and aside from the fact that both our arms were aching from carrying Junior (we were 'clever' enough not to buy a baby harness or bring his stroller), we actually had a good time. And he was totally well-behaved too! No fussiness or being Mr Cranky Pants. He calmly watched people walking by and enjoyed the colourful things he saw. Our biggest fear was if he needed his diapers changed while we were out. My wife told him "Please don't poo while you're out, ok?" And he obeyed! He didn't till the end of the day!

That's my boy!!

Above : Picture of our little boy slouching in his car-seat tired from his two-hour outing.

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.

And Baby Makes Three

On 29 July, the loud cries of a 2.9 kilogram baby boy being wheeled out of a delivery suite changed my status from being a husband to being a father as well. It was surreal - like one of those out-of-body experiences so many people talk about. It was so overwhelming that when the doctor examining him asked me if I'd like to carry my son, the only words that came out were "Maybe later". That, of course, prompted a very disgusted look from him!

It's not like I didn't know we were going to have a baby. We actually found out sometime in December last year. My father was seeking treatment and therapy overseas for his spine condition at that time and he was the first person I called to share the news with. My father had a way of hiding his excitement, perhaps his way of not betraying his cool exterior. But this time, he could not hide his true emotions with just his casual "Very good! Congratulations!". You could not miss the happiness in his voice. Later, I heard from a relative, who was at the hospital at that time, that he told all the doctors, nurses, other patients and visiting friends and relatives about the news that day. Our relative described him as being "very very happy". This is the "recent development" I talked about in an earlier blog. Sadly, this happiness was short-lived for the both of us for he suffered a massive stroke a few days later and died after a couple of weeks, never to be able to meet and get to know his grandson.

I always imagined that when I had a child, my father would be there to show me the ropes. Why? Because he was a top-notch Dad. He always knew what to do or what to say in any situation. He always had a way of making me feel good about myself even though I knew I messed up. He always made sacrifices for his son when the need arose. I always wanted to know how he did it - what made him a fantastic father. More importantly, I wanted to learn from the best. Today, as I write this sitting across from my son's crib, I wonder if I can be a fantastic father, much like my own was, to him. I wonder if I can care for him unconditionally like my father did all these years. I wonder if I can make sacrifices for him. I guess the only answer to that is love.

When he was born, he looked up to me and cried his lungs out. That's what babies do when they're introduced to their new world for the first time. He wailed and stared at this "stranger" whom he was placing his life and future in the hands of. For me, I knew that from the minute he was born, I was responsible for comforting his every cry, pain or suffering. The thing is, we have a long road to travel together. We have to get to know each other. We have to understand each other and most importantly, we have to grow to love and respect each other more and more everyday.

Truthfully, I am not sure if I felt even a little "fatherly love" in my heart when my son and I first met at the hospital minutes after he was born. At that moment, I wasn't sure if I'd ever feel it. For this, I really wish my father was at my side to share his wisdom about fatherhood. But I realised in the next few days that I was not as unfeeling as I thought I was - because love filled my heart when he gripped my finger and stared at me with big innocent eyes two days later. I guess it was his way of saying that he needed me to be there for him always and at the same time reassuring me that he had faith in me being a good Daddy.

Premster Jr and I are both vulnerable at this point. But his grip symbolised our first handshake between father and son, sealing a pact that we would be there for each other every step of the way. We'll both make mistakes along life's rocky path but I hope that we will learn from them and that it'll strengthen our bond. I look forward to teaching him what I've learnt in life but what I am most excited about is when the teacher becomes the student - in my greying years, that is. I hope it'll excite him as well.

The circle of life carries on and I know that it is with my father's blessings. I hope I'll do both my father and my son proud.

My Letter To Mum

Dear Mum,

Eleven years ago today, you left us and this world behind to be in a place where there is peace forever. While you found peace, you left us in a state of shock, turmoil and utter disbelief. You were in hospital may times for far more serious issues but you always walked out unscathed. So, no expected that you'll leave us - and at such a young age at that.

You were admitted to hospital because of a reaction to your medication and when I left you the same evening to run errands, you said you were feeling ok. But when I got back an hour later, they said you had a seizure. Things went downhill from there. The seizure left you with the inability to speak coherently and the recognition of some people. I remember when you were in critical care, someone asked me to get you a drink. I came back with it and when I tried to give it to you, you refused it and stared at me in fear - not knowing who I was. I left the drink in the hands of Dad, who you took from with a smile. I looked on and eventually left the room bravely but cried profusely as soon as I stepped out. "How can a mother not recognise her son?", I implored God. A day later, I guess you decided to be fair to all and slipped into a coma. You now acknowledged no one.

We've never had the best of relationships. There were many things where we did not see eye to eye. Heated quarrels ensued from simple disagreements. Periods of silence clouded these days. But it was always one thing that broke the "cold war"... our love for laughing. Although angry, one of us would see or hear something odd or funny and an unknown reflex would make us turn towards each other. This, of course, is followed by a stomach-cramping laugh. I guess we both had stupid looks on our faces.

Our love for food was another of our weaknesses. This was also the reason why your health failed. We always shared a good meal and sometimes, it'd seemed like we'd go to the ends of the earth to get it. Do you know that I still patronize the fried noodle stall that you used to take me to when I was a little boy? The stall owner, now old and greying, still remembers you fondly.

So much has happened since you've left Dad and me. I know you've been watching over us all these years so I don't need to tell you how we've struggled to get to where we are and the obstacles we've faced. And when you saw how Dad was suffering from his spine surgery, his stroke and how his body was turning against him, you invited him to share the peace that you've enjoyed all these years.

The years on without Dad and you will be even tougher on me. But I am comforted in the belief that both of you are together where no illness or suffering will befall either of you. Wherever you and Dad are or whatever you do, do think of me from time to time and make sure I am on the right path in life always. Like every human being, I am not free from faults but in whatever I do, I wish for the both of you to be proud of me always.

Rest in peace, Mum. Please give my love to Dad too, ya?

Your loving son,

Prem

With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

Last Friday, 12 May 2006, was an "anniversary". Anniversary is in quotation marks because it is not a day for celebration. It marked one year since my father was admitted into hospital for what appeared to be a pain in his chest but eventually led to his death about 7 months later.

As I was preparing to go to work that fateful day a year ago, my wife came to tell me that my father was experiencing a chest pains. Although the symptoms did not seem like it was a heart-attack (my mother had two heart-attacks before she passed on so I am quite 'knowledgeable'), we did not want to take any chances. We called the cardiologist that treated my mother some 15 years ago and managed to schedule an appointment that same morning. Basic checks revealed nothing out of the ordinary. So, my father was ordered to be admitted. "A day or two... Just to be sure". Alright, I thought. I could help look after my father's business for a few days despite my busy schedule at my job.

After three days, no apparent reason for the chest pains could be found. Then, a full body MRI was ordered. This revealed that a mass of bacteria (streptococcus) had attached itself onto a disc on his spine and was feeding its way into it, resulting in the nerve endings at his chest to hurt severely. "Antibiotics should work", said a very young orthopedic doctor brought in by the cardiologist. Ok, these guys should know what they're talking about, especially since this was a highly reputable hospital. We went for it. After two days, my father said he was fine and the pain was gone! He even proved that he was fine by getting out of bed and walking around the ward without wincing in pain. I was elated. I was expecting to take him home in a day or two. But anything planned seldom works out the way you expect it to. The next day, I found my dad lying in the hospital bed in pain again. He told me that when a nurse tried to help him on to the bed, she did it in a very rough manner and hurt him. Being unable to walk again, he had to stay on.

"He'll have to undergo a procedure where a needle is stuck into his spine with a computer guiding it and the bacteria will be sucked out through it", said the orthopedic doctor a day later. "Any danger to my father?", I asked immediately. "Yes", came the answer I was dreading to hear. He may suffer from permanent paralysis. "And what if he does not have the surgery?", I probed further. "If the bacteria eats into the spine, he will also suffer permanent paralysis." You're damned if you do and damned if you don't, I thought. This was not an outcome I wanted for my father. After pondering for a few hours outside the hospital, I made a major decision to discharge him from this hospital, against the doctor's advice, and move him to another where I knew the doctors a little better.

On arrival, I was happy to learn that one of Singapore's best spine surgeon was affiliated to that hospital. He was brought in for a consult immediately. Although he suggested a very drastic method of surgery to remove the bacteria, he was confident that it would not lead to any form of paralysis. The only concern was my father's age and if he could withstand such a gruelling procedure. I agreed for him to go ahead and the surgery was scheduled the next day.

I paced outside the operating theatre for over 4 hours before the doors swung open and a team of doctors and nurses rushed out pushing my dad straight into the Intensive Care Unit. The doctor told me that my dad was tough and pulled through the major surgery without incident. I was pleased! My dad was, no doubt, in severe pain but he bore it bravely. In the middle of moans, he would ask if I had eaten, what time it was and if I was working the next day. From this, I knew he would make it. Two weeks later, he was moved to the general ward. His spirits were high and became the nurses favourite patient. His surgery healed very well and after a week, he was sitting up in a chair reading the papers. The nurses loved him. He memorised everyone's name and joked with all. "Your father is a real joker!", they'd tell me when I walked into the ward. All this pointed towards his full recovery. But this was not to be.

A week after, my father was having some difficulty with his bladder. An unknown doctor was called in to see him and without my permission, took him into surgery for what was supposed to be "a simple 10 minute procedure". After the 10 minutes passed, he was immediately rushed back into the Intensive Care Unit again. Apparently, he had suffered a stroke. The doctor in question put it down to my father's age and the fact that he was weak. Why did he do the procedure then? I was furious. My father was not the same after. After returning to the general ward, he was lifeless, quiet, lost strength in his left hand and leg and had to be fed through a tube. My father was very unhappy with the situation he was in and asked to be discharged. Two weeks later, he was discharged and I brought him home in a wheel-chair just in time for his birthday in August.

A small birthday celebration was put together in his honour and that night before my father turned in, he called me to say that he wanted to go to India to complete his treatment as soon as possible. And within two days, we were on a plane bound for Kerala, my father's hometown. Doctors there were very optimistic about his recovery. I was hopeful too.

And after settling him at a good hospital there, I left my father in the hands of relatives to come back to Singapore because of my responsibilities here. I kept in constant touch via phone and found that he was progressing well. After some months, he was moved to a well-known Ayurvedic hospital to help him regain the use of his limbs. Here is where he made the most progress. After a month there, he was able to walk, albeit slowly. I was overjoyed. However, this joy was short-lived again.

My father developed gastric problems while there and he was admitted to a regular hospital for treatment. An inexperienced doctor stopped all his medication, including Cardiprin, a medication used to thin blood for stroke prevention. Three days later, my father suffered a very major stroke. I spoke to the doctor who took my father off these medications via telephone the next day. All I got from him was "I don't know what medication he was taking so I stopped them all". The mixed feeling of helplessness and anger was too much to take. My father died three weeks later.

I thought of these events last week thinking just a year ago, he was alive and well. I also realised the amount of power a doctor has. When we are ill, we turn to them and trust them readily without any doubt. However, one small mistake on their part and a life can be lost. While there are many talented doctors and surgeons out there, only a handful realise the power they command and tread carefully. You read about doctor negligence all the time. You read about families that sue doctors for malpractice. But no amount of money in the entire world can repair the damage done, the anguish caused or resurrect a life lost. For doctors who slip-up, life goes on as usual. For the rest of us who suffer the pain of losing a loved one due to negligence of a doctor, it is a lifelong struggle to find normalcy and peace.

I struggle on....

Home, Bitter-Sweet Home

We sold our home today. A place I called home for 14 years and my wife for 5 years. While the sale of our home will bring us much more financial breathing space, I can’t help feeling a little sad.

Was this place filled with good memories? Not really. To be honest, I loathed the idea of moving to this place when we bought it in 1992 and over the years, I think I blamed it for many of my difficult situations. Was it fair? I guess you’ll have to be the judge.

It was a really tough time for me then. I had just left the army and was struggling with my tertiary education, nursing the wounds of a broken relationship and the fact that I had to give up my two Alsatians when we left our semi-detached home in the East. Why did we leave? Financial troubles, mostly. I guess my parents didn’t have much of a choice.

So, we moved from a huge house to a small apartment. It took me a long time to get used to the place. I couldn’t feel "at home" there so I slept mainly on the couch. As I started getting used to the place as well as the idea of living in a more confined area than I was used to, my mother passed away. This was where I came face to face with having to deal with a death. It shook me severely.

A couple of years after my mother’s passing, I bought a 7-year-old sports car, a car that I had been dying to own since it made its debut in the showrooms when I was still performing my service to our Nation. It was my pride and joy. I washed it almost everyday and waxed it every weekend. I spent so much time with it my father once suggested I should just sleep in it – hopefully in jest. Sadly, I had to let it go after only 7 months because I was blissfully unaware of the financial troubles my father was experiencing and by the time I came to know, the situation was quite dire. Till this day, I still feel the pain of losing that 2-door black beauty.

Life went on after. On top of fate tossing me a few more broken relationships, my dad had a heart attack and was admitted to hospital for a major heart bypass surgery. I juggled work and looking after him during his 6 months recovery period. My father and I had our ups and downs there but whenever there were downs, we looked out for each other and managed to overcome, albeit barely.

And not long after the millennium rolled by, my grandmother passed away. Her wake was held at a relative’s apartment, two floors above ours. I still vividly remember having to carry her casket 4 storeys down, past my apartment, to the hearse before it made its way to the crematorium. I bade my beloved grandmother a very tearful farewell.

A few years later when things were looking up for us, my father was slapped with a highly unjust lawsuit by an unscrupulous internet-based company. My father was shaken but in comparison to what it did to me, he was a rock. This was mainly because of something I had pushed him into and the result of an honest mistake made by a close friend.

And for those who have read my very first blog entry, you will know that my father became critically ill and passed away while we were living here. After his passing, I found a video tape I made of my father’s birthday in 2005. He was sitting in a wheelchair, struggling to cut his birthday cake with what little strength he had left as a result of a brutal stroke. Again, I blamed our house.

But as I received word that the sale was complete today, I started looking around and strangely enough, the bad memories started fading into the background and I started remembering different things about my 14 years in this house. Being a music enthusiast, I had my first home studio here, something I was not able to do while living in my old home – a much bigger place. Although I had to sacrifice a beautiful 7-year-old sports car, I now own a brand new black sports sedan tricked out with the coolest gadgets.

But the most important memories are the ones I feel in my heart, not see in my driveway. I remember when finances were tight, my father and I used to have a simple Saturday night dinner where he would fry some ham and eggs and we would have it with rice. It was a simple meal but I enjoyed it, not because I enjoy clogging my body with cholesterol but because my father would tell me stories about his youth or we would have spirited debates about politics and current affairs over our humble meal. We talked and laughed till the wee hours of Sunday morning and when my father got tired and turned in, I sat quietly in the darkened living room thinking of the fantastic conversation we had with a smile on my face.

This is also the place where I made a wonderful woman I got to know my wife. We had a simple ceremony there by turning our living room into a hall that could accommodate 30 of our closest family and friends. In the presence of a Justice of Peace, we took our vows to have and to hold and we were pronounced man and wife. I remember that day fondly.

This is the house where a tiny, odd-looking Jack Russell Terrier came to live not too long after I got married. Being the rascal that he is, he was named Eddie after the loveable JRT in the comedy Frasier. The odd-looking fellow eventually grew up to be a handsome chap with the un-JRT-like popped up ears. Then came Casey, the all-white cutie. Today, they make it painfully clear that my wife and I are sharing their home, insisting on a place at the dinner table, a corner on the sofa and a place on the bed.

But most importantly, a very recent development that I was blessed to be able to share with my father a month before he died. I know it made him very happy. I will reserve that for a future entry.

I realised a few things today. Firstly, it is hard to see the blessings in life when you are plagued with so many difficulties. But if you manage to look past these struggles and see the small gifts that you have been bestowed with along the way, you will know that it is the difficult times that makes the good times sweeter. This is very cliché but I truly feel it, especially today. Secondly, it is the bad things in life that paved the way to the light at the end of the tunnel. And last but not least, I also realised that it is a combination of the good and the bad things we experience as a family that makes a house a home.

So, as I pack up the CDs, sound systems, computers, crystal ware, books, appliances and other items that I will need to be moving to our new house, I am also packing the bad times I’ve faced into mental boxes in my head for storage while I fill a golden chest with the wonderful memories I’ve experienced in the last 14 years in my heart. I will work hard to keep this chest unlocked so that I'll have easy access to these memories to remind me that life’s not all bad. And as the lorries roll out of here in a few months to bring our stuff to the new house, I hope that my wife, our two Jack Russells and I will experience more of the blessings in life and find the strength and courage to overcome the tough times that may swing by as we embark on making the new place our home.

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.