A Slice of My History

History. I discovered my love for history during my last HK trip, and though I have yet to pick up history books, I have gone off on another tangent with a desire to learn about my own history. My ancestors and who they were as individuals, rather than just a namesake.

I have listened to my mother’s stories about her childhood, stories that I see depicted in many Chinese dramas as I grew up, and I never tired of listening to them, even though they were variations of the same theme. Something new always occurred in those stories that I didn’t capture the first time round. The other times when I would hear these stories as I grew older was during my grandparent’s funerals when my uncles and aunts would openly share their own experiences, or when I visit my Aunt Constance in Tokyo, and we would lie on our beds, sharing our stories about everyone.

As the memories of our grandparents fade with every year, I am more eager to capture this, not only for my sake, but for the younger generation who never knew them. Our loving grandparents, especially my maternal grandma, whom I call the “wind beneath my wings”, whom I still miss so much every day, whom I hope I made her proud and happy. Our younger generation will never know who these people are, if we don’t share our stories.

We all hold a piece of the jigsaw puzzle and it takes all of us to present a glimmer of who they are. Circumstances can shape who we are, and these are timeless lessons of gold that we can learn from. Stories of strong, loving people who worked hard to keep the family together, building bonds of kinship which still bind us today.

Though I have always been nourished by my mother’s stories, my father’s family always remained a bit of an enigma. I had a grandmother who was a true matriarch, and I think in some ways, resembled the towering figure of an Empress Dowager. She was a modern independent woman who donned a bikini in the 40s, a photograph framed under the glass of her table next to her bed. She was definitely authoritative and for that, she could be misunderstood as being tough and not kind and understanding, like my maternal grandmother was. I believed her upbringing shaped her into who she was, like we all do, and I had so many misunderstandings of her, that it finally took my Aunt Vera (who lives in Sydney) to correct some of them.

I am only starting to learn more about her as a person and though the stories span only small significant sections of her life, they offered me a glimpse of who she is. My aunt shared her childhood and many stories about our ancestors, starting from Dad’s grandma, Tai Po, who adored Dad. We knew so little about Dad’s family history and it is such a shame. Now, with my revived relationship with my aunt, I get a chance to listen to the stories, and know who our relatives were. My history is so colourful that they seem to read like “Joy Luck Club” or even “Wild Swans”, even though I have never read the books before.

Tai Po was the second child in a family of seven children, the first six being girls and finally a son being born into the family. Her sister and her eventually married two brothers, who during the Gold rush, sailed to Chicago to seek better fortunes. In order to capitalise on the fortunes, they had to marry new wives in Chicago. During this time, Tai Po stayed back in China and worked in the fields everyday. She had a very strict mother in law, and her life is probably like those that we see in the serials, where she is forced to go back to plough the fields, not long after child-birth. She bore two children – a son whose altar we have next to hers, and Grandma.

After 16 years of living in Chicago, the two brothers decide to come back to China and fetch their wives to Chicago. I could have been US citizen. Unfortunately, Tai Po’s husband died on the boat during his trip, so Tai Po decided to leave China with her two teenage children and boarded a junk as a “slave” (working on the boat for their boat fares). Grandma was about 12 years old then. They arrived in Singapore and lived in a place like a gambling den (or those premises which lent money to people). Tai Po took on a job outside while her children worked in the den, serving food and pouring tea etc.

This is where it gets really exciting. Until then, I always thought that Dad’s uncle (Grandma’s brother) died at child-birth. How wrong was I. He was a fisherman/sailor and one fateful day, he dropped his oar in the rivers, and he dived into the waters to rescue it. Unfortunately, he was killed by a sea snake, and by the time, they fished him out, it was too late. Grandma was very attractive when she was young and she had many suitors. She was also deeply superstitious and loved to seek the advice of boh-mohs, who could revive spirits from the underworld. Perplexed by the number of suitors and who to marry, she decided to go to one, and they summoned her brother’s spirit. His advice was “Marry the man who offers something to me on a date, your dead brother”.

Well, needless to say, our grandfather was the only one that did it. I always thought Grandma was a bit weird to marry a man with two wives already and after realising the truth, I am more than a little ashamed. Our grandfather grew up in a middle class family. His mother organised a child bride, so that when they grew up, they would get married and have children. Our grandfather was a philanderer but he also had a kind heart. He never married the child bride. He married another woman and had a child during the Second World War. During an air-raid, they hid in a bomb shelter, but the baby boy couldn’t stop crying. In order not to implicate the others and alert the Japanese, his wife stepped out with her newborn baby, and unfortunately a bomb hit, and she was killed instantly by the shrapnel. The baby survived and was brought back to the child bride who opened her heart and took it in her care.

Grandma was grandfather legally binding wife and she had no idea that her husband had a child bride till she entered the house on her marriage day.

Our philandering grandfather decided to consummate his relationship with the child bride as well, which is why she bore children around the same time as Grandma. When Dad was conceived, Tai Po decided that if it was a boy, it would be offered to her dead son as his own child. Grandma agreed. When Dad was born, Tai Po doted on him immediately, and wanted him to bear the surname Chung, which is Grandma maiden name. True to her strong character, Grandma disagreed vehemently, which is why we are still named Lew.

Grandpa struck good fortune when Aunt Vera was born and apparently Grandma was tired of his philandering ways, and was more afraid to catch venereal disease. Aunt Vera said that she had many sores on her head when she was growing up, and Grandma thinks it is a sign of venereal disease. Which was why she decided to divorce grandpa a few years after third uncle was born. I think she really signified a modern woman because of her determination and her love for her children. She didn’t want any future children of hers to suffer the same fate. I think Uncle’s under-developed chest on one side could be a result of that.

Grandma led a new life then, and that is when she started wearing the bikini on the beach, to assert her new freedom. I remember looking at those photos of her, and marvelling at her courage to do so. A modern woman indeed. I didn’t learn much about her decision to marry Grandpa Soh, but I guess that could be a story for later.

Just so that you don’t think badly of my Grandpa, he was actually a good father. He doted on Aunt Vera more than Dad and she says that Dad was always a little envious/jealous of that. She always retorted that their grandma loved him more too than any one of them, so it was fair. Dad didn’t have a close relationship with his father, which is why we rarely hear about him. His father always met them at school or at the bus stop to give them pocket money, and Dad was a little jealous that Aunt Vera got more than him.

Grandpa’s good fortunes ended with his philandering ways and after Grandma left him. He worked as a bus conductor and eventually settled at the bus depot as his home in the final years of his life. Aunt Vera always tears when she recalls how he used to wait for them, and walk them to school and stories like that. You can tell that she really love and miss him. He suffered a heart attack at the bus depot and was brought to the hospital. Aunt Vera and the family visited him at the hospital, before his bus colleagues came and they left. An hour later, he suffered a massive second heart attack and died.

I pushed Dad the other day to tell me more about his history but he is reluctant, and he laughed it off, in an attempt to circumvent the topic. I tried harder but he wasn’t in the mood, so I think this will take some time but I know I will keep at it. I want his perspective of his childhood and what he thought of his parents. I want to know my Dad as a person too.

I believe it is so important to know our history, because we tend to see grandparents, parents and kids as relatives and children, but not as real people. Like us, they have an identity and I am keen to know who they are as real people. So, my task this year is to create a web platform for all of us to share our stories about our grandparents, ancestors and children, so that our younger generation will know that we went through the same human emotions and conditions as they did, and hopefully, they will cultivate some new respect for the older generation.

My Father

It seems fitting that I should pen my tribute to my father on the upcoming Father's Day celebration in Australia.

If there was a job that everyone was destined in life, then my father's would be a dad. He is what one could call a 24 hour Dad, never tiring of the role that he was born to play. My father wasn't there in the hospital when I was born. I learned it from a letter that my Aunt Alice wrote to him when he was working in Germany. I chanced upon the letter via incident more than ten years ago and have never been able to locate it since. One of those unsolved mysteries ...

The letter was written by my aunt because the common language between my parents was Cantonese and my Dad would not been able to read the Mandarin characters, so it seemed fit that my aunt would be the one to write. The basic premise of the letter is to announce my birth and my adoption of his unofficial Christian name, James. I do not know why my aunt chose my father's name for me. I guess it could be a way to honour my father's best characteristics most significantly, his integrity. I certainly hope I lived up to that expectation.

Unlike my mother who would share stories of her childhood and youth, my father was a relatively reserved man. We knew that he came from a polygamous family, and somehow I was always under the impression that his father did not feature significantly in his life. I had imagined that it was his father's relative absence that inspired him to be involved in all aspects of our lives. I later realised through my aunt (his sister) that it was not true.

I know that there are many untold stories of my father's childhood that I wish to hear, to know what my dad was like as a child and a young man. To see the similarities or differences we share I also know that I will be the one who will have to take the initiative to dig them out, so I am hoping that this will help ease the first lines of communication.

Growing up, my father was a kind and loving disciplinarian. He played good parent while my mother played Ms Hyde most of the time. Together, they would try their individual best to instill the best values and knowledge, probably due to lost opportunities of their own life. They were very strict, insisting that we place studies above all else, so that we would end up being independent and dependable adults.

Every night, he would tuck us into bed, asking us if we loved him, which can be a little embarrassing at times, but thinking back now, it can be rather sweet too. As I mentioned before, my parents never shied from showing affection, and I can remember the day still that I told him not to hug me in public anymore. It must have hurt, but that is the impulsiveness of youth.

He also had his unique way of instilling his values in us. Besides showing his affection for us, he would make us promise since young that we would:

(a) never smoke
(b) never take drugs
(c) never gamble

It has proven to be really effective because I can still hear from his voice right now as I am typing. My mischievous little brother would sometimes try to get his way when he lost, by shouting to Dad, "Daddy, big brother is smoking" and Dad would storm into the room, and say "Is that true, James?". Such an insignificant but fond memory.

Dad was also rather good at mathematics, so he would sit us all down at the kitchen table every night when I started primary school and go through all our English and Mathematics homework. However, since he was not a teacher, there was only a limit to what he could impart. I remembered failing a Mathematics paper when I was in Year 3, and since I miraculously topped the class for the first (and last time) after the mid semester, my teacher wanted to know what happened. I told her eventually that my father didn't know enough about algebra then to teach me. I can't remember what happened after that, but in some ways, I probably knew that I was going to have to do it on my own from then on.

The other fond and significant recollection that I have is my Dad buying the entire collection (or the remainder) of the Secret Seven series that I lacked. All thirteen or so copies of it from the third book onwards. I knew that we were not rich because we rarely ate out, and we had to help Mum with the sewing as well, so I was astonished when he bought them all at MPH. I can still vaguely remember how proud I was when Dad brought them all to the counter and paid for them. That was his grand love for me.

The other reason why this stood out was because it was also the day that my grandparents moved to their new and eventual home in Ang Mo Kio. We visited them that afternoon immediately after the shop and someone spilled Fanta Orange all over some of the books. I can remember my anger and disappointment then, but nothing could rob me of the joys of owning the entire set, which I still own at home.

During my teenage years, I started to rebel at home. I had a "violent temper", one that Mum was quick to point as a flaw I shared with Dad. My results at school would deteriorate because I found it difficult to adapt to my teenage years as a "nerd" and misfit. I was plump and not as agile or sports oriented as my other fellow students. The only sport I was good at was swimming because Dad paid for lessons, but we never had swimming lessons at School, so I never had a chance to prove myself.

I feared Parents Day because I knew that I had let them down again but there was no way to get out of it. My only asylum was Japanese music, which my mother had no empathy at that time for, because she thought it was a hindrance to my performance at School. She was not entirely wrong. However, the more she objected, the more I rebelled.

Dad shocked me after one Parents Day though when he brought me out, after my teacher's less than favourable review, and bought me the most expensive watch I had ever owned. Even till now, I have no idea why he did it. I can only guess it is a way to motivate me to do better, but I didn't. I was lost.

I guess I didn't find myself until I left secondary school and realised how badly I had done in my "O" Levels, which left me little opportunities in life. I also worked for the first time in my life, lost some weight and gained some self confidence because I realised that I was a relatively fast learner and could adapt to changing demands rather fluidly. It was probably then
that life started making some sense for me.

Dad was an engineer, so in some ways, he probably wanted my brother and I to walk the same path as him. Alas, it was not my calling, but I managed to persevere and graduate with a Diploma in Mechanical Engineering. I made many good friends at Ngee Ann Polytechnic, sadly many of whom I had lost contact with. Thankfully, I found one of my best friends last year incidentally, and though the lines of communication are still rather irregular, we will never lose the bonds of friendship we held.

Dad's love for his children is never more pronounced when I started my two and a half year compulsory Army service after that. Unlike my fellow camp-mates, I was one of the only few that was picked up every Saturday afternoon and driven back every Sunday night by their parents. He never faltered once. It seemed that he would give up all other engagements so that he could be there.

It can get potentially a little embarrassing at times because I didn't want to be seen as being pampered, but strangely, the Army does strange things to immature minds. The absence from home and familial love makes one treasure the bonds of kinship more than ever. I was seen as the lucky one and I never took my parents' love for granted from then on. He is always keen to share his generosity, so my neighbouring friends benefited from the lift as well.

It is always interesting to see my father in the eyes of his friends, because that is the real him, not the familiar role of a father he adopts in our lives. There is an air of authority, integrity and respect that he garners and I can see that vividly in the eyes of his friends. He is usually silent, squirms a little under the praise of his friends, and I see and feel the strong and loyal man/friend they say he is.

He is a worker, not a talker. Through my aunt, I have learned more about my father than I could ever know, because he would never brag. I admire his courage and strength. When my grandma was on her death bed and the doctor wanted the family to make a decision to amputate her legs, it was left to him. The eldest son assigned by his mother and two younger siblings to make the most difficult decision one could ever want to be responsible for. I can not for my life, imagine how one would not crumble at this point in life, but knowing my father, he probably took it as a life decision that had to be made. I wasn't there, so I don't know if he ever wept, but knowing him, he probably did not do it in public.

When my aunt flew back from Australia to attend my grandmother's funeral, it was in the middle of our university Summer Term, and my father told us that our studies were more important, and how she would understand. After my aunt returned, she told us about her half siblings that she was surprised to see at the funeral. They had lost contact for a very long time and since my grandma bore some old grudge against my grandpa's other wives, the relationship has never been warm. So, when they arrived and adopted the deceased 's children identity (it is Taoist tradition that the more children you have, the more glorious you will look in the other world), my aunt was even more surprised. She engaged into lengthy conversations with them, and learned that the reason for them taking this duty was to return the favour my father gave to their mother a couple of years ago. No one in his family knew about it. Since he acknowledged their mother then, it was their turn to acknowledge his. I was moved to tears. I know my aunt was so proud of her brother then.

My father is a very kind man who loves children. I see it whenever I see him play with my nephew and niece. I see shades of my father as a young dad again. I have to say that he was a little surprised when I hugged him for the first time in years when I returned to Singapore from Australia, because he probably thought he would never get that back again. It is good that I am able to hug him now when I arrive back in Singapore and leave, or whenever I want to. I am also happy that we can tell each other that we love each other very much too.

Compared with many other friends and stories of upbringing I have read and heard, I think that though my childhood was relatively sheltered, we have been very lucky to be loved by two wonderful parents who always put us in the first place. We were not rich, couldn't afford as many luxuries, rarely ate out (McDonalds was considered a relative luxury), or went overseas for holidays, I still believe my parents came out tops, and there is not a thing I would change, except if I could have been more mature earlier in my age.

I want to thank my wonderful parents, for the love, patience, care, concern and support they have always provided us. My sister has been ushering me to write this because she says "He is just the best Dad in the world", and it is entirely true. My only wish now is to be able to learn more about the man I lovingly call my father.

I do not know if we make you both proud, but I hope we do. We may not be great achievers in life if you measure things via monetary means, but life is more than that. It is about love, relationships and respect. These wonderful loving lessons that we learned from the best teachers in the world, and in this aspect, we can proudly declare "Thank you for the rich lessons of love and life." We love you both very dearly.

36歳の誕生日 - My Little Birthday -

I have been telling everyone this year I'm 36 that when I finally turn it today, it no longer feels too much of a surprise. The lines on my face are more evident, my strength is slowly diminishing, but my spirit lies happier. Happier because I have discovered that the secret to my happiness is me and my relationships.

My relationships with every beloved member of my family, relatives, and friends, all of whom grace my everyday life and fill my heart with so much happiness when I think of the lovely times we share, and the ones that we are about to experience. I have lost some along the way, but this loss only reinforces my focus in life.

I may not have much riches or position in the superficial world to boast about, but if our achievements are judged by love, then I know I am a very rich man. Therefore, for my birthday, I can only wish for happiness and good health, not only for myself, but for everyone around me that I love, so that the lines on my face will not deepen with worry, but be filled with laugh lines as we share our love and our joy. Thank you.

A final special mention to my mother who gave birth to me 36 years ago, suffering almost 20 hours of labour. Thank you for bringing me into this flawed but beautiful world, and everyone for teaching me "the art of giving".