This is what I know of my father.
1. His name was Yam Jin Seng.
2. He smoked Benson and Hedges like a chimney.
3. He was a Sergeant Major with the Royal Malaysian Navy.
4. He loved hunting.
5. He loved hanging out with friends for beer and coffee.
6. His friends were all decades older than him.
7. He was a dead ringer for the famous Hong Kong actor, Chow Yun-Fat.
8. He loved kissing my mum in full view of the children (yup, we looked away all the time).
9. He was a phenomenal cook (better than my mum).
10. He loved politics (always be debating with mum).
Here's what I don't know but I wish I did:
What was his favourite programme? Did he ever play pranks on anyone growing up? What was the best place he'd been to? What was his favourite subject at school? Did he like school? Who was his first crush? These questions may seem banal to others but, it highlighted a fact; my father wasn't the expressive sort. He was the first generation Malaysian born to Chinese immigrant parents. He had a harsh life though he never shared about his time growing up. Revelation appeared in bits and pieces like, “I was cooking rice, cleaning and mopping the floor when I was eight,” which he would say every single time I didn't do my share of the house chores. I rolled my eyes every single time he reminisced his bleak past.
The gap was vast; his and mine. I couldn't help but to think that we were the “by products” of our time. My Malaysia and his Malaysia were different. His was the 60s and mine was the 80s. His Malaysia was a young country beginning to stand on her feet. My Malaysia had made strides. It didn't want to be known as the country next to Singapore. It wanted to be recognised as Malaysia; independent, modern and a multiracial country.
I had coloured TV at home and was watching the coolest channel ever, TV3. My mind was absorbing Michael J. Fox's wittiness as Alex Keaton in the comedy Family Ties as well as Johnny Depp in 21 Jump Street, the epitome of coolness. He, on the other hand, had the radio which he shared with my grandma listening to Chinese opera. I kept tabbed on the US Top 40 religiously by watching Casey Kasem delivering the number one song every week. My pocket money was RM2 in the 80s. His pocket money was five cents in the 60s.
We were caught in the web of a developing Malaysia and the wedge was getting wider. I relished at the fact that the nation was getting recognised worldwide. It was easier explaining to my American and South Korean pen pals about Malaysia. But, my father didn't feel the same way. For starter, he balked at my so called expensive hobby. Stamps to the USA and South Korea didn't come cheap.
He was raised to obey the elders - strictly plain obedience. No questions allowed, no talking back. So, naturally he imparted this value to his children. Boy, oh, boy, was he in for a shock. I spoke my mind. It was the first time a teenager said anything back at him and coming from his daughter, he was surprised. That surprised notion, gave way first to irritation then it built up to strong hostility. The atmosphere at home turned prickly whenever we shared the same room.
Yes, we were different as night and day. At 15, I perceived him as conservative and as a 38-year-old father, I was just a brat that needed an occasional slap. He was staunch in his ways so, was I. Then one fateful morning, he died of haemorrhaging from a freak hunting accident. That ended my rebellious chapter. I felt the weight of the world and all the guilt when I accompanied my mom to the mortuary, to bring his body home. I looked at his face and whispered, “I'm sorry, Pa.” Those three words were laden with the heaviest of sorrow and regret. In all honesty, I thought I would have many more tomorrows with him. He left with many questions unanswered. I had tons of questions, regardless how flimsy or idiotic they maybe, I wanted answers.
I remember the day when I stopped asking questions for good. It was while rummaging through some pictures of my siblings that I stumbled upon my father's instead. Black and white, mostly suited of his era. I saw him, a young sailor who travelled widely in his uniform, him in his cabin when patrolling the South China Sea, him with his friends and a studio picture of his young family. Then a sequence of flashes of my father's life burst right before my eyes. He had many good friends. He was a responsible father and husband. He was a filial son. He had a boyish smile. He served his country. He was a good man who led a fulfilling life. My past questions were irrelevant, immature and selfish. Thus, forever erased.
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Siew Mei Yam (vibrantwritings@gmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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