A Unity Lost

I have been a regular reader of the Malaysian Insider, an alternative online media, to keep abreast of the on-goings in my home country. While it is a norm to read of crimes and corruption in the State, it is definitely abnormal (to me, at least) to feel agitated as you keep reading. I have been rather disturbed by the recent developments that could threaten unity in the country.

It all began with the "Allah" issue where the Malays in my country believe that that word is exclusively for Muslims, and that no preachers of other religions have the right to use it in their sermons. The Catholics have been using it even before many of us were born! It's funny that the word that refers to God should be copyrighted by one race. I just wonder if there is more than one God in this universe, and if so, does it mean that each religion has to call God differently? It is actually a non-issue, but being a nation where politicians have nothing better to do but look for something to talk about in order to stand out among the crowd, we have highly sensitive issues like this blowing out of proportion, threatening the safety and security that we have enjoyed thus far.

There have been other incidents in the past years that touched on race and religion. There have been threats of reigniting the May 13 incident if we don't watch what we do or say. There have been lesser respect for other races and religions. The most worrying thing is that the leaders are not making things better, but have chosen to remain silent. It gives the impression that the green light is given for such uncouth acts of disrespect to continue. In the span of the past 12 months, the nation has been rocked by one silly statement after another made by mindless politicians and NGO leaders; we have been pelted with harsh remarks that hurt other races to the bone - but the latter have remained silent for the love of peace. If this had happened in other countries, there would be war.

The nation, blessed with a melting pot of cultures and abundant natural resources, has gained independence for over half a century. The nation has also seen major infrastructural developments, but it stops there. In terms of mentality and emotional quotient, my beloved country has remained status quo, or it wouldn't be too far-fetched to say that it has gone to the dogs, looking at the way the leaders run the country. I see that things are getting quite out of control if the top leadership continues to stay mum.

Our forefathers, the pioneers, who have built this country with their blood, tears and sweat to ensure all races live in unity would likely be crying in heaven, for they could anticipate that their hard work would be slowly but surely be destroyed if things don't change; if the attitudes of fellow citizens remain as they have been the past few decades.

I was reading the Bible one day, and this verse aptly fits the scenario:

"I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly united in mind and thought." - 1 Corinthians 1:10 (NIV)

The verse applies not only to Christians, but also to every respectful religion on this planet. If leaders are not united, neither will the people be.

The Routine

It has always been a routine the past two years. I wake up, brush my teeth and do my daily business on the throne. Then I change, and have breakfast at the nearby cafe or kopitiam. Then I'd sometimes go to NTUC to get my weekly groceries. In less than a hour, I'd be back in my rented apartment in the central area. 

I turn on my trusted Lenovo notebook, and begin cracking my head on what to prepare for my students that range from Secondary 1 to 4. I need not worry about those kids from Primary 3 to 6 which I'm also teaching because the worksheets have been prepared by a team of teachers. I'm often lost, but I have to thank the Internet resources, as well as the books that I've invested to help me through each day. Staff at POPULAR bookstore must be smiling each time they see me at their premise. Work doesn't officially begin till 4:00 PM - wait, before you say "Hey, I wish I could go to work at that time", think again. Despite starting late, I unofficially begin at 8:30AM at home, and spend a good 2 hours preparing worksheets for my unappreciative students - or perhaps it's my worksheets that are too simple (or too hard) for them. By the time I get back from work, it's close to 11:00PM, feeling weary. So when others are ready to go to bed, or literally rolling in bed with their partner, I'm just getting ready to eat dinner - or should I say, supper.

I work 6 days a week; weekends are a full 8-hour job from 9:00AM, which means I get up about 6:00AM and get ready to catch the bus, MRT or LRT (sometimes all three) so that I'd be on time to have breakfast at my destination (it's a different location each day). There's a lot of talking involved in my line of work, and when a large class is filled with boisterous kids, then my voice would be raised. There would be silence but it's only temporary, for the whole cycle begins ten minutes later. Kids these days have short term memory, or they're just hyper-energetic, I guess.

My only day off is on Monday. Take note that it's a "DAY OFF", which means I don't have to be physically present in class, but being the perfectionist and scardy-cat me, I'd spent half my off day doing preparations for the next week. I know other colleagues would just ignore work and go lay at the white sandy beach, hang out with friends, or shop till they drop, but I'm somehow "different". I feel guilty if I don't do any work, for that's what I'm paid for. Often, I end up getting very uptight or frustrated when my preparations boil down to zero when students refuse to do the worksheets as they are just too exhausted after their regular school hours. I won't blame them, but then, they're paying me to learn something - they fail to see that. I'm not a master teacher or the best teacher ever, but I have helped a couple of students pass the O-Levels when they had failed just a year earlier before coming to me for help. I've had a parent begging me to continue helping her daughter at secondary level even though my schedule is filled to the brim. So, I'm not that bad, right?

When I share all my grouses above with my girlfriend or friends, they'd tell me things like "hang in there" or "you must know what is it that you want in life". I often compare myself with other friends of mine who are less qualified academically but more successful now. I sometimes wonder if the Master's in Computer Education degree which took me seven gruelling years to complete (part time) was all worth it. I was an assistant lecturer at a renowned Malaysian university, and later a lecturer at a business school in Singapore, but now I'm a measly English tutor here. I've told myself NOT to compare or feel bad because despite being "demoted", I'm actually in a better place, and a better position now. Honestly, I can't agree more with that. It's an experience that not many of my ex-colleagues would have.

So what now?

I don't have a freaking clue, except that I know I've started to drag my feet to work - and that's always bad news for me when that happens. Yet, I don't have a choice; I have to earn a living by helping my students as much as I can to the best of my ability, and not bother much about whether they're in class to study or just to waste their parents' hard-earned money. Those who want to study, will; those who don't and expect the class to be an entertainment club, they won't. I don't have time to sit with them to counsel them as I'm not doing face-to-face personal tutoring. 

What's the worse case scenario?

I hope that this will not happen - having to say goodbye and going back to where I came from, and start looking for job all over again. It would be excruciating painful to my emotions and to my wallet. MTMY (anonymous friend) once warned me that I wouldn't survive working here, but I've so far proven that person to be wrong. I wish to continue for as long as I can... if not in this organisation, in another - perhaps in a different profession where I could proudly tell others: "I'm very contented with my job". Until that day comes, life will be a routine.

It's 11:46AM now, and in 2 hours, I'd be at the bus stop... and another (to transit) to get to my place of work at Marine Parade Rd.

A NEW Chinese New Year 2014

The Year of the Snake has just slithered past, passing the baton to the Horse. What does 2014 hold for all of us? I’m quite sure most of us won’t be horsing around as there would be more challenges ahead, possibly more tragedies – I pray not. No matter what the Feng Shui masters and astrologists tell us, their predictions are just that – something very intangible. An accurate prediction is merely coincidental, for each master has somewhat varied predictions. So do take their “expert” advice with a pinch of salt. Those who believe in God will know that our lives have all been planned by Him, but it doesn't mean we could be lackadaisical in our work. We let Him handle his plans for us, but we must also have lives to lead, or else we would be no different than programmed machines.

Life went on for us; we continued working and doing chores as normal. Things changed for my family after my dad’s death mid-2013 due to cancer. We have lost someone who has played a significant role in each of our lives for decades. The Great Snake of 2013 decided to drag him along before it slithered away and won't return for another 12 years. Hence, we began the Year of the Horse without dad, and for the first time, we were short of a very important family member at our regular reunion dinner. There was another first too. As we gathered at the dinner table, my mother decided to say grace. This was something which she never did when dad was around as he was a Buddhist, so out of respect as head of the family, no one said grace. The words she used while saying grace touched our hearts as her voice quivered, noting that it was the first time we had a reunion without dad, and she thanked God for giving her strength to prepare the wonderful – though not as many dishes as previously – spread of food for the seven of us, inclusive of a nephew, two nieces and an in-law. It was not easy for her to prepare Nyonya (Straits-born) dishes for us all by herself, and we are truly appreciative of her effort. Anyone who is a typical nyonya, and who cooks nyonya food can vouch for the amount of work that one has to put in when preparing authentic nyonya meals.

The dinner spread for Chinese New Year Eve 2014

The soupy dish at the top right is called "pong tau hu", a nyonya dish that is not 
served in any nyonya restaurant due to its tedious preparation work.

On the Day itself, my mom cooked "ap sioh" (braised duck meat in coriander seeds),
yet another dish that you won't find in a restaurant menu.

The only difference was that there were no decorations at all – no red ornaments hung on trees, no red lanterns adorning the porch, and no cut-outs of Chinese characters pasted on walls. The red cloth known as “chai kee” (also known as "ang chai") around the door frame that had always been hung prior to dad’s demise was noticeably absent. It was like Chinese New Year has died with dad's death. In a way it is, for the Chinese believe that the family has to mourn for a year, so there would be no reds no matter what. On the eve of the new year, we went to bed as usual. Unlike the good old days when dad would sit around the house till way past midnight, with lights all turned on, and doors wide opened to welcome the new year, it was the total opposite this year.  I still sent greetings that night to ex-colleagues, and long lost friends. Some replied, others didn't. We still played some fireworks, though, before bedtime.

The overall ambiance on 31 January 2014 was still quite cheerful. We wore red, decided to give red packets to our nieces and nephews, and to the young ones in the family. If an elderly had been around, this would have been heavily criticized. Remember the “no reds” rule? We somehow broke it for obvious reasons – “modern” and “no superstitions”. I’m guilty of doing the same, so now we know why kids these days are blatantly blind and ignorant of their own roots, cultures and traditions. Being single – yeah, I still am – I gave red packets to only three people:  my two nieces and a nephew, and a special one for my mom. She could use it to get herself a brand new washing machine that decided to literally go up in smoke the night before. By doing so, I broke yet another rule – that singles are not supposed to give red packets to anyone as they have not reached that much-coveted “married” status. I gave because I wanted to; besides, I've had strings of misfortunes already, so I’m quite immune to the threat.

The Chicken Pox Experience

After the 3-week school break, I headed back to Singapore. Then when I commenced work the following day, I started having back pains. I thought it was due to the extra load that I carried, as I added my full-sized notebook and lugged it every day to class. I did a bit of exercise, and the pain went off a while. I tried to look for an alternative so that I didn't have to carry that burden; I found the solution in my Nexus. I worked fine as I had a small class, and the bag wasn't as heavy. Yet, the back pain persisted. I thought: "Oh God, I hope it's not my slip disc making a come-back."

A week passed. One morning, I noticed two blisters on my back, and a few red spots in front on my abdomen. My girlfriend took a look and advised me to see the doctor as it could be chicken pox. I went immediately. Upon examination, it was confirmed that I had chicken pox. Apparently there were more than just two blisters; the trained eyes of the doctor spotted much more on the back, front and limbs. I have never had chicken pox, and I didn't know how bad it would be. Neither did my girlfriend.

Day 1-2:

I took the medication that the doctor had given. The antiviral pill had to be taken 5 times daily! Hours later when I took my bath, I saw something horrific - very red and vivid spots appeared out of nowhere, when just in the morning, I saw only two. When my girlfriend saw the spots, she freaked out and dared not get near me. The doctor gave me a week's medical leave and ordered me to stay indoors. There would be a review on the 6th day, The doctor hoped I could get well for Christmas.

Some red spot appearing

Day 3-5:

The spots got redder, and by now, the whole abdomen and the back were covered with blemishes, spots and small blisters. Even the neck was consumed by the infectious varicella zoster virus. The itch got a little worse, but still bearable.

Getting scarier by the day

Day 6-9:

Some rashes began to disappear, and blisters showed signs of drying up; the most noticeable was on the neck - it cleared first. I believe this is the most contagious period, so I had to stay away from humans at all costs. In my case, I have to face tenants in the kitchen each day - too bad if they get infected. It's not that I wanted them to. It was my first review at the clinic, and the doctor gave me another MC, which means, no work for another 7 days, and another 3 days of medication. If you think that's good news, it is - and it is NOT as well because I was still not allowed to go out. It was a self-incarceration. A second review was in store the following week.

The beginning of healing - blisters
with virus actively inside the bubble

Day 10-14:
It was on 23 Dec 2014, a day before Christmas Eve. Time for the 2nd review. The doctor checked my limbs, front and back with his flashlight. He was pleased to see scabs, which meant I was free from being a walking viral host... or as my girlfriend had aptly put it: "The Virus Headquarters". I could start work immediately after Christmas (yeah, that's right while everyone else is enjoying their year-end holidays, I have to work). That's good news as I didn't have to be worried about troubling my HR manager to get substitute teachers for all my classes. She had done a great job during my two weeks of absence.

What I discovered and learnt about having chicken pox (newbies, take note):

• the older you are, the more difficult it is to heal
• bathing is a very slow process as you couldn't scrub and wipe your body the way you used to - you might be afraid to touch your body while you soap yourself, as you could feel tiny bubbles everywhere
• your self-esteem would take a dive instantly when you lift up your shirt and look into the mirror, but it will pass
• stock up on food in your larder or fridge, as it would be difficult to get someone to buy you nutritious meals if you don't have anyone to cook or deliver food to you
• you'd be in a dilemma as to whether you should adhere to the superstitions of the elderly about what food not to eat, or listen to the doctor's advise of eat anything you want
• you'll feel like a leper, but then you know that everyone will surely have it one day, except for some very fortunate individuals who die without having chicken pox
• if you have never had a full-blown chicken pox, you will likely have it the second time if the first one was "just a few spots". That's what a friend told me. As for me, this is my one and only. Full-blown, horrible looking.
• when you have chicken pox, it's tests your friendship and relationship - are they genuine?

But don't be scared. As mentioned by my friend, "You won't die from it." 
You'll be back to normal two weeks later, though there could be scars.

New Kids vs Old Kids on the Block

How different are kids these days? After teaching for a good two decades, I can fairly say that modern kids are so much more different than when we were their age in terms of their knowledge, their language and the things they do during their free time.

In terms of knowledge

In the good old days, knowledge was learnt from teachers, as our parents were too busy with their work, not highly educated and not kiasu. The job of parents those days was to work to support family – it’s still status quo now – and to produce offspring as they don’t have as much stress as we have now.

In modern times, kids as young as 10-years-old could tell you the formation of planets, can explain what gravity is, have dissected animals and learnt the parts and can tell you why their country sucks big time. These were things we never knew before, and never bothered to comment on, as we were happily playing “chap tey”, “gasing” and “hantu galah” with friends in our village. Life was so much simpler back then.

As kids, we were exposed to works by the Brothers Grimm, Lewis Carroll and Hans Christian Andersen. We enjoyed watching Bugs Bunny, Mickey Mouse, Sesame Street and The Electric Company. Today, stories like Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast and the ever-famous Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs would be met with the word “LAME” by modern kids’ standards. Many would give you a blank stare when you mention those titles. Talk about modern animated movies like Toy Story, Cars, Monsters Inc. (now Monsters University) and guess what else – Spongebob Squarepants too - and their eyes would light up the darkest room!

They read magazines like the National Geographic, Young Scientist, and books by Percy Jackson, Geronimo Stilton and Adeline Foo (who?). I even have a Primary 4 student who proudly announced to me that she reads Shakespearean stories like Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet and Twelfth Night (the abridged version I presume, but still… ), and when asked the reason for reading, the answer was apt: “There’s romance and love.” Can you beat that? Some of us in mid-life crisis don’t even know what these stories are about.

Talk to them about English grammar and creative writing, and they’ll literally yawn in your face. On the contrary, if you want to be in their GOOD TEACHERS list, talk about World War Z, Angry Birds, Blackshot, L.O.L and Mindcraft. They will salute you as if you were the General, and they’ll blabber non-stop about the levels they’ve achieved; suddenly you realize that your quiet class has transformed into an active one with the noise level of a Chinese restaurant.

In terms of language

Students still speak English. However, they use language that we never dreamed of using when we were in the primary school. Profanity seems to be the norm, so you’ll hear words like fuck, faggot (I honestly donno what it means), shit, bullshit and some Chinese expletives being liberally used in class and at home. Parents would just ignore and say: “It’s alright, daddy uses those words too.” – hello, they’re in the primary school, for Christ’s sakes. It’s the best time to mould them into tactful and restrained citizens when they could still be moulded. Once the bad habits are solidified, it’s too late to reverse the effect. If you think I'm talking crap, ask my 10-year-old student. He innocently declared: "Teacher, you know what my father calls me? An asshole."

In terms of what they do when they’re free

We played traditional games, we visited friends, we invited them to our houses, we went for extra-curriculum together. We watched TV or just read Enid Blyton’s works and the Hardy Boys' stories. Try asking what our little ones do in modern times?

In Singapore, it’s “study, homework, tuition” while in Malaysia, it’s coming to that too. My students are bored with holidays except for the lucky few who could travel overseas to some Western or Asian countries. We used to look forward to holidays, as it’s time to have fun with friends, but modern kids don’t do that anymore. Instead they spend hours paying close attention, literally, to their X-box, 3DS, iPad, iPhone, or i-Idiot for hours without much supervision, sleep, eat and eat more. Family time is a bore, and if they have to be dragged with their families, they need to be accompanied by their closest friend – the iPad or Samsung Galaxy, fully loaded with apps. Then you could take them anywhere including Timbuktu, and the kids are not even aware where they are. It's what I call a modern-day pacifier. Any parent who forgets to bring the devices on a long journey – or even a short trip to the eatery would have to face the “Wrath of Tantrums” from their tiny 6-year-old kids.

Come to think of it, what free time do kids have these days? After school, they go for one academic tuition after the next. Then on weekends they have their own CCAs like ballet, art, drama, dancing, singing, drumming, swimming, baking, piano, guitar, violin, creative writing, computer literacy, robotics, church meetings and the list goes on. Well, it’s the survival of the fittest, you know.

Only time will tell if things will work out well for these modern kids, and for the country in which they reside. By then, many of us would be watching from the heavens above.

                                                                                                                            

Coping with the Loss

It has been three months since my dad's death as a result of cancer. Things have been pretty quiet here for mom, and for me. I'm into my 2nd week of vacation back in my hometown. Dad would normally pick me up at the bus station, but this time around, I had to drop off somewhere and drive myself home.

So it's only me and my mom at home. I don't know how to describe the feeling that I have - the silence, the emptiness haunt us. Mom tries her best to cope with her loss. She's pot around in the garden, repair stuff with a hammer, and everything else on her own. I did offer my help, but only because I care and I want to make sure she's alright for the 3 weeks I'm here. However, my kind thoughts were met with anger.

"You don't need to help me! I'm not that helpless, you know."

It can be frustrating for me but I let her be, for I understood the reason for that kind of response. I've decided to let her do whatever she wants, but under my watchful eyes. If I had to go out and leave her alone, I'd make sure I told her and lock the door and main gate. My neighbourhood is not as safe as it used to be. There's daylight robbery, literally. And I pray that she wouldn't get into a domestic accident when I'm not around.

I have been concerned that if I'm back in Singapore, mom would be all alone again. She needed some kind of entertainment, or something to keep her occupied even if it's only for an hour or so especially at night, when the silence affects her most. Out of kindness, I bought her a Samsung Galaxy Tab 3, the 7-inch variation. Though it costs me a bomb @ RM999 (approx. US$300), I bought it without much thought - thank goodness for the 6-month interest free installment plan; it would do her good. She could then keep in touch with her sisters, children and grandchildren via the various social networking applications especially Whatsapp and Skype. She often complained that she didn't have the chance to see her grandchildren physically, so why not let her "speak" virtually as an alternative? With that in mind, I parted with my hard-earned cash. I also spent additional money to subscribe to a local broadband so that she's able to use WiFi to get connected. This also meant buying a portable 3G Router to connect the broadband to the tablet.

The Galaxy Tab 3, and the USB modem

The wireless 3G Mobile WiFi

So I brought the tablet home, told mom about it excitedly. Her response was very cold. I even got a good scolding for wasting my money. She never liked technology, which she blames for causing eye problems. True in a way, but we have to keep up with the times. After some persuasion (and lots of patience), she agreed to try. Now, she could turn on the device on her own and use Whatsapp to chat with my sister and her 12-year-old daughter in the capital city. That's an improvement I thought.

I hope things would be better. Every one of us has to live with this change. We cannot turn back the clock, but move forward.

A Grave Concern

A Prayer for Healing Cancer

Heavenly Father, I come before you with a solemn heart and in need of your intercession. I pray that the cancer that has come into my father's life soon fades into a quick remission.

I believe in your capacity for miracles, and ask for this on his behalf. As we grow older, I know we become closer to the day you accept us back into your kingdom. I ask that you delay that holy union if it be your will. In your name I pray,

Amen.

*********************************

July 3, 2013 was a day to remember. Just the night before, dad made a crucial phone call to my brother, Daniel as he needed to see a doctor as soon as possible. Dad had never in his life agreed to see a doctor; other than having his routing check-up for hypertension at a local physician's; he did not believe that going to the doctor is of any good if one had good eating habit and exercise. He believed in self-medication, so a flu does not warrant a visit to a doctor. However, that day was different. He had bad stomach discomfort that night; he had constipation a few days, so Dan sent him to the hospital. The doctor ordered an endoscopy, which could only be done the following day. Nevertheless, he was given a solution to be drunk so that his bowels could be emptied prior to the scope.

Dad exercises regularly, doing his regular brisk walks each morning, and he watches his diet though he loves drinking sweet stuff. He said it was fine as he was on medication, and he controls his food intake. He gives advise to anyone who falls ill like he's a medical officer himself. No one could blame him for that as he is a very well-read person, and his knowledge in medical stuff is quite impressive. To keep his mind sane, he tends to his garden, plays Sudoku on his favourite rattan chair. He is not afraid to speak his mind at meetings though he knows that sometimes it's futile. Nevertheless, he managed to get some things done, much to the appreciation of the community. Dad has a good reputation, and when it comes to religious rites, even the elders would approach him for advice. He exudes that authority as he had been through a lot in the past seven decades of his life. Whether or not we, his children, are able to keep up to his reputation is left to be seen.

On that morning, at the hospital, the blood test was administered first. At about 12:30PM that day, Dan sent me a text message to inform me that a blood test was done and that dad would be going through the CT scan soon. The diagnosis would be known after lunch at about 2:30PM. I waited at work, but my mobile phone was eerily silent. All the way to work, on the bus, I had flashback of what dad had done for me, and what could happen if something went terribly wrong. I was teary that afternoon. It was the longest an hour-and-a-half bus ride ever. I couldn't wait any longer, so I picked up the phone and called my younger brother.

Dan said in a rather normal tone, “You cannot wait for me to text you, huh?”

“So, how's it?” I replied his rhetorical question.

Daniel's voice became even softer, “Very bad. Cancer... fourth stage already.”

I was dumbfounded; I just couldn't believe it was cancer, and worse still, there is still no cure for it. Daniel gave me the details, and I was even sadder to find out that the cancer was metastatic – it had spread to the lungs and the bones. The doctor didn't encourage chemotherapy as it would aggravate his pain and suffering, so he was discreetly telling us that my dad has to live with it without any treatment besides popping in pain killers. I was horrified. All of us were. We didn't know how much time we had left to be with him before he departs this cruel cancerous world. It didn't take me long to decide to go home that weekend rather than to wait, as anything could happen. Never mind if I had to arrive home close to midnight. Never mind if I had to take a pay cut. Family comes first.

Dad was calm, as if in anticipation of the prognosis. Maybe he didn't know but he had accepted his fate as a result of his religious beliefs. He was positive about it and even joked with the doctor that it was a bonus to live up till seventy-four while many of his friends and relatives had passed on. He was mentally strong and prepared for any eventualities.

An endoscopy was done the next day to find out if there was any growth in the stomach. Thank goodness, other than a benign “growth” which the doctor assured was not harmful, his stomach was clear. We were elated to hear that piece of good news; it was a consolation at least. The thought of our dad having cancer bugged us the next 48 hours; it was like a nightmare. We have to wake up from this nightmare, and move on.

No one knew how it all happened. Being one of the silent killer diseases, cancer doesn't come knocking at your door. My dad doesn't smoke or drink alcohol. The doctor suspected that it originated from the lung, so my guess is that it happened way back. Dad loved going outdoors and is an active person. He was a sportsman during his school days. He was a scout. Could it be the accumulated smog in his weak lungs as a result of long exposures to outdoor activities over the decades have caused cancer? The recent haze even made it worse. Last year in 2012, he travelled to China with mom, and it was an excruciatingly painful experience for him, as he had to be wheeled out of the plane when he arrived at the airport. His health went sliding down after that, and took quite a long time to recover. Was that the initial sign of cancer which no one saw? I have no answer, no one has.

Saturday 7 June. I took the night bus home straight from work. It was a four-hour ride, and I almost got left behind at the immigration checkpoint. My sister, Kath, had warned me days earlier that dad looked different. I wondered how much different he could be. I saw dad for the first time after the prognosis, sitting on his chair with the television watching him. Kath and mom greeted me outside. My cousin picked me up from a bus stop as she knew it would be hard to get a taxi at around midnight. I guess they were all waiting up for me to arrive. No red carpet needed. Dad had been sleeping early the past two days but today, dad was wide awake.

Indeed, dad looked – different. It was like his hair had greyed so much, and what had happened to his eyebrow? I saw paleness all over his face. He was more gaunt than before, but not ghostly. The first thing I asked dad was, “Are you ok?” - I got the silent treatment. Obviously it was a stupid question to ask no matter how noble my intention was then. When Kath and my niece were in bed, dad, mom and I talked.

Dad's voice wasn't as commanding as before; it was coarse, feeble but he could talk. At least he could still eat albeit a loss of appetite. I discovered that he had been on a painkiller and also on medication to help him sleep. That can't be good at all. He couldn't sit long as he would feel discomfort after a while. When he woke up each time, his back would hurt and mom had to apply ointment. Dad and mom urged me to be more responsible and caring especially to my siblings. How was I uncaring toward them, I couldn't figure out. My nature is such that I would avoid any kind of confrontation the minute I smell it a mile away, if I could. Accuse me for being uncaring, I shall not rebel anymore; time will tell eventually. When there was a pause as we were watching television, dad told me.

“I want you to tell you something. Now, listen carefully. When I die, I want to be cremated, and the ashes thrown into the sea. I've called Thomas, and he will handle everything. So you don't have to worry about coming back to clean the grave on Cheng Beng (All Souls Day), or go to the temple to pray; if you want to remember me, do so in your heart. I've already told Kath and Daniel about this and they're agreeable to it.”

My sister cried buckets when she heard dad's wish, I was told. I suppose she wanted something tangible to remember him. Mom then asked if I were agreeable to that dad's wish. That was a dying man's wish for goodness sakes, so how could I disagree? Besides, I was, in a way, glad that dad could foresee our inability to fulfil the responsibility of being diligently praying and cleaning at the tombstone each year like what he had been doing for my late grandparents. He said that times were different now; my late grandfather, apparently wanted the same, but in those days, cremation was hardly ever considered. So, dad was prepared for anything, for he had summoned the cousin who knows the Chinese traditions and funeral rites to make all funeral arrangements when he eventually departs.

My aunt and uncle came from Kuala Lumpur the following day. They brought with them the snake grass plant – not the commercial ones sold in some orchards or shops. This plant, my aunt claimed, could help reduce the cancer markers, and testified that one of her friends had the number of cells reduced from 14,000 to only 500. In fact, another of my aunt also gave the same remedy although it had been packed into a powder form. I honestly do not know if this plant could help lung metastases, or advanced stage cancer, but since there is no modern wonder drug to help besides going through the painful chemotherapy, dad had nothing to lose. We shall all wait in anticipation to see if traditional medication works.

I surfed the Net to find out if there was any latest treatment for cancer, though I didn't expect to see any cure in the next hundred years. Sadly, there isn't any besides chemotherapy, and exposure to radiation which destroys the good cells. I thought that being in Singapore might be helpful as the country excels in providing medical care. An ex-nurse then told me of a breakthrough drug called Oxynorm. My excitement was temporary; my heart sank as this drug is what I term as the terminal drug – it's just one level below morphine. It is merely a sedative for very severe pain. I didn't want my dad to be too sedated; he would then be a “live” vegetable. I would rather have him move about – although slow – so that he didn't feel helpless, and mom thought the same, too. I've also checked out websites on the life span of cancer patients. It was rather disheartening to find out that on average, Stage 4 patients die in 8 months, though there were cases of such people living a few years more. It depends on a variety of factors, mainly age and overall health condition.

Mom reminded me to pray each time I called home; I have done that, and will continue to do so. In fact, I took a step further by seeking prayers for cancer healing online. The prayer on the top of this page bears testimony to my effort. I've also mentioned my dad's condition to a Christian website called YMI Blogging; they responded, and I believe they prayed too. I've also posted a request for prayer on another website for the online community to pray for my ailing dad, if they wish to do so. I had literally got the cyberworld involved in this special prayer. God listens, and miracles do happen. After all, has He not healed the sick? I had to be realistic as well, for not all prayers are answered in the way we wanted it to. Dad would still die before my next trip home, if God chooses to and if it were for our good. So I wouldn't expect anything except continue praying especially for my own strength to move on.

On the following day, July 8, the three siblings sat down to discuss the next course of action. I had expected some squabbles as I was the only eldest, and by the Chinese tradition, the male has to be more responsible, yet I chose to leave home to earn a living in Singapore, about a 4-hour ride by bus. I had no choice as I needed to service two large loans monthly. I had expected my fiery younger sister to insist that I return to Malaysia to work and take care of mother when dad eventually passes on. After all, Kath did tell Dan about it, and the latter sent me an SMS to inform me of their wish. Thankfully, there wasn't any argument about my status. The discussion focused on whom to pay the utility bills and how to help ease the old folks' burden. So we decided that we would share the bills – medical and utility. Dan would also get a wheelchair for dad (and I guess that's for mom too some day). I'll be pumping in more money monthly for household expenses via overseas transaction. Thank God for the Internet. Mom was appreciative of our effort, especially our mutual decision to keep the house no matter what, and treat it as a home where gathering takes place once a year on Chinese New Year. At least we have a place to stay, not in a posh hotel.

I went back to Malacca (home) again on 21 July. This time, I did not take leave. I decided to try making a quick visit then travel back to Singapore in time for work on Tuesday. Dad's condition was not much better. He appeared to be worse; he was more breathless and spend more time in the room due to extreme discomfort on the back. The traditional Chinese medication (TCM) which he took caused him to go to the toilet more often. Apparently that was expected, as it meant his body had lots of toxic. So it was a detoxifying process. That explained his weakness. He would continue on TCM – he had nothing to lose. I felt really sad when I saw his condition; he was as grumpy as before, and gets agitated easily (I would if I were in pain), and poor mom had to keep attending to his every need. I was there too to render any assistance I could. Things like pouring water for him to drink, checking if he's alright once a while, answering phone calls, and I even shaved his stubbles for him when mom suggested that dad should shave. I did so carefully, though I wasn't too sure how to get it done from where dad sat. He was seated on the low plastic chair, so I had to manipulate my hand, squat and whatever to get it done carefully – yup, mom certainly didn't expect ME to do that as she's always thought that I'm the uncaring one. Not bad at all, he's quite cleanly shaved.

On 23 July, I returned to Singapore.

I spent a few more days there until I got a message on 26 July, Friday evening from my cousin May (she works in SG), telling me that I had to call home urgently . My sister had tried in vain to get in touch with me, but she eventually did. I found out that dad has been hospitalised at a private medical centre, as he had bad stomach pain, and he could hardly move. Later, I was told that his blood pressure had also dropped so low that he was in a shock; dad almost died at home if not for the timely presence of my cousin Alex, a doctor, who was actually supposed to be out of town already but somehow stayed back in Malacca a little longer. With his help, dad was admitted to hospital alive but barely awake. The ambulance took a good 50 minutes to arrive!! Talking about inefficiency. The telephone operator had asked dozens of questions when one of our relatives called for the ambulance. Hopeless! I had to take leave again, but thankfully, the Human Resources Manager assisted me in getting replacements. I took a two-day leave (pay will be deducted as usual).

Saturday, July 27. It was the day when my dad was warded in the Mahkota Medical Centre hospital. He was scanned a few times; he had also lost lots of blood (no thanks to the TCM's so-called detoxifying process). He had loss blood through his stool. Dr Francis also found that his duodenum had a small perforation. In addition, he informed me that that TCM contains steroids, is acidic and could possibly cause damage to the stomach. It was unbelievable, and horrifying. When I saw dad in the hospital, he was extremely weak and in excruciating pain. I spent that night with dad in the two-bedded hospital ward. I hadn't had any rest since 7:00AM as I went to the hospital directly from Singapore. I decided that I should spend another night, so I was with him on both Saturday and Sunday.

I hardly slept on both nights as I kept vigil over dad, to see if he needed anything. In the two days with dad, I saw how much he had suffered in pain. At a few instances, he had indicated that he wanted to die. On my first night with him, he said: “You people are useless; cannot do anything for me.” - an initial sign that he was ready to leave this world. The second night was even more nightmarish for me. His breathing was much heavier, but the machine showed that his vital signs were normal. I know because I observed and I inquired each time the nurse came to check on him.

At one point, dad told me to help him turn (knowing it's painful), and when he did turn, his hand tried to reach for the machine to pull the out the tubes. I immediately summoned the nurses who came running in. They tried to talk to my dad; he said in a loud voice, exasperated: “My time is not up yet” - the nurses told him to calm down and not say anything rash. Dad stared at me and gestured that he wanted a lethal injection to end his pain – and life. I conveyed his intention to the nurses. After some words of comfort by the nurses, dad quietened, and the nurses left the room.

Dad was in such a pain on the second night that I felt so helpless, and scared – so scared that I tried to hide behind the curtain that separated the two beds (the other bed was vacant). I couldn't sleep at all, I wanted to make sure dad was still alive. He survived another day.

Monday came. Dad's condition wasn't getting any better despite being pumped in with Oxynorm, a strong painkiller. He spent far less time talking and used gestures instead. He could still feel the pain, and it had made him very drowsy. Surprisingly, he was aware of his surroundings. He gathered his strength and told me to get in touch with a few people; he also gestured that he wanted someone to pray for him daily. We did what he had wanted. That night, it was Dan's turn to keep a night watch on dad. Mom, Kath and I were at the hospital first that evening. Both Mom and Kath were at his flanks. Sensing their presence, dad pulled Mom's hand to his chest, then he took Kath's hands as well and pulled them closer. It was a final non-verbal message from him to advise both Mom and Kath to be good to each other, as he knew that both of them are always at loggerheads. It was a touching moment. We comforted him, we told him it was alright if he left us, and he could go in peace. Dan came in later, missing the drama. The four of us gathered – little did we know that it was our last meeting with dad. I touched dad's hand and talked to him; I cried like crazy as I told him how great he was, and asked for forgiveness as I couldn't help him during my two-day night watch; I cried so hard that my sister had to tell me to stop. They, surprisingly, didn't cry that much. Before we left for home, I said a little prayer to him. I choked as I prayed: “Heavenly Father, please take good care of him. I know that he will be in good hands. In Jesus name, Amen!” - I felt like a kid after being caned by his mother. With those words, the three of us left the hospital at approximately 10:00PM.

Tuesday, 30 July. It was a quiet night. We were fast asleep when my phone rang in the wee hours of the morning; it was just 2:30AM. My brother called, and said in a solemn voice: “Papa has slipped away.” I was speechless for a moment. I was the first to know, and I woke Mom up. She was shocked that he went so quickly when the doctor said he could last a few days. Dad was pronounced dead at 2:11AM. My brother wasn't even aware until he opened his eyes in the room and saw the nurses with the heart recovery machine. Dad had stopped breathing. I was supposed to leave for Singapore that same morning, so I had to cancel my plan, and extended my leave to two weeks.

We were glad we said what we had to say; we asked for forgiveness. I kissed his forehead hours before he passed on, and I wonder now if I did say that I loved him, or was it just an imagination. I couldn't recall as everything went by so quickly.

MAY YOU REST IN PEACE, DAD