After the busy week I had with the delegation in town, I took it easy on Saturday just chilling out and catching up on my chores which had been neglected the whole week. The place was a bit of a mess. Sunday I played golf with one other chap - the rest were either fasting or travelling. Quite apart from the fact that it had been a long time since there were so few of us playing, it was also a day when the temperature was a frigid -2 degrees when we started. I said on our golf chat group later that day that both of us who played should be awarded the Holland Park Golf Club Gallantry Award "for dedication in the face of sub-zero temperatures and risking frostbite, without any regard for personal health and safety." (Note: I don't know why it's the Holland Park Golf Club as only Devin, my American friend lives there. Along with a certain David Beckham and Posh Spice. But hey it's the chairman's prerogative to name the club)
The cold was not that bad - there wasn't much wind. That would have really made things miserable. But we were actually quite comfortable, all wrapped up. The challenge was to dress in layers that would be easy to peel off. The sun came out and it actually felt quite warm, even hot later in the morning. Golf is an even more interesting game once you really get into it. With the freezing temperatures, the ground was quite firm and we had to adjust our game. A bit like life. You need to roll with it, to take what life throws at you and make the best of it. No use making excuses, especially if everyone had to deal with the same conditions.
Then when I was at home, I remembered that the anniversary of my father's passing was a week ago, the day of the delegation's arrival in London. I had been so busy preparing for the visit that it had slipped my mind - I didn't forget the March babies though:) To be fair it was 10 days earlier so no excuse.
I was slightly upset that I had forgotten. Whenever I'm home, I'd always arrange to meet with my brother for a drink. We would spend time reminiscing about him, and exchange stories to fill in the gaps because we each had our own perspectives and experiences. We are 8 years apart, but when we were growing up, it felt like more. My parents were not those that showed much outward physical affection, nor communicated that much to us either. But they cared about us in their own ways.
My mother was the typical worrier, but she never really put much pressure on me in school, except when I faltered. In primary school, the occasion that triggered her version of a meltdown was when I dropped to third in class! She wanted me to stop playing softball and it took the intervention of my wonderful teacher who persuaded my parents that I should be allowed to continue. Her way of showing love was material. When I did well in school, she would reward me with something - I never really wanted anything, and the most significant thing she got me for doing well was a Bulova watch. Later I became interested in photography and she funded that hobby too - something that Uncle Kum Leong also enjoyed. I suppose it was because in photography, his handicap didn't matter. In her later years, her worry was that I was not really doing anything with my life - her perspective was the very traditional Chinese idea that if you want to make something of yourself, you don't join the police or army. She would ask me from time to time, whether it was good to be a policeman.
My father was the typical quiet hardworking Chinese father who didn't spend much time on hobbies or anything. I do remember him drilling me in my multiplication tables (ask Mummy if you don't know what this is) when I was in primary school. We memorized them in Cantonese! To this day, I sometimes still work it out in my head in Cantonese!!! So apart from school, we didn't have that much to talk about but he was there for me when I started doing triathlons, sending me to races. A few of my most treasured photos are of us at one of the events. I can't be sure but I think he was quietly proud of me though he would of course never say it publicly or to me. I say this not because I did not feel loved, or had somehow lost out because I had a less publicly-affectionate father, but it's just a fact. I think he probably felt the pride because one of his closest friends, a distant 'uncle' on my mother's side who was more educated (and who my father respected) always liked me and would often engage me as an equal when I started working.
Anyway back to the topic about Uncle Kum Mun and I sharing our different recollections about our father. Because he was much younger, he got to know our father a little better after he retired and spent more time at home. I had already moved out after getting married and before that, I had been busy working and didn't spend much time at home. (Those first few years were exhausting as I had to do 24-hour shifts as an investigator, and I'd often go home only after 28 to 30 hours as there would be administrative stuff to clear up.) But I had also seen a side of our father that Uncle KM was too young to recall or maybe not even seen - for instance, he had no idea that our father played the accordion! I doubt many others knew this either. He stopped playing quite early, but I still have some vague memories of him playing.
The first night of the funeral wake, we basically just stayed up and talked about how much we missed him. We both cried, and while it was a shame that it took our father's passing to really connect but I am glad we did and it has made us closer since then. The first year after that I spent every day thinking about my father, often tearing up in private. For a while I was torn up because I had made the decision to pull the plug. Did I make the right decision? Should we have waited longer? I had no answers. I also had some regrets of course, that I didn't spend more time with him, getting to know him better. But what I do have I cherish very much.
And so this year, this little post is my way of remembering him, and giving you an idea of who he was and what he meant to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment