Dear A, N & P
Our wedding anniversary came and went, but none of you remembered because we didn't receive a single greeting. Not even an sms. But don't worry - I won't hold it against you! Just pray that we would have many more to come.
It's our 28th, you know, and I have so much to be thankful for - to and for your father for the most part. We did not give each other gifts on our anniversary. I certainly didn't want one from him. Have I told you that he is God's gift to me, and when you have that, what more could you want? But I thought my gift to him would be to tell you about the kind of man that I married, so you would know more about the man that is your father.
Now that you are all living apart from us, and I am moving towards my twilight years, I worry that I might not have the time nor the capacity to tell you things. Things that I think are important for you to know, to remember lest you forget, or even worse, take for granted. And for you to have an idea of what its been like for me these past 28 years with him. You might think that this is going to be one of those mushy-mushy stuff and I would be going all sentimental. Maybe; but, bear with me, please....
Papa is the embodiment of love. When you were born, I knew I could not have given him a greater cause for happiness. It was as if he was made for fatherhood. It was never too much work, too heavy a burden, or too great a responsibility. He was quick to wake up nights to feed you, change your nappies or simply to take you into his arms, to coo and croon in your baby ears so that you were lulled to sleep. And this from a man who could fall asleep just about any time, anywhere. He ran with and after you, fell off the bicycle as you were learning to ride and ate off the spoon he was feeding you with. When you were cranky, he would take you in the car and drive around the neighbourhood till you fell asleep.
If you thought your teenage years were difficult, they were no easier for him either. While he relished the role of father, he was mindful of the other duties that came with it. Not least of all, that of disciplinarian. But never have I seen such a role undertaken with so much empathy and understanding than that displayed by him. He never shouted, raised his hand, nor saw the need for a cane. Instead, you were made to see your mistakes through gentle words, never harsh ones; to see reason without rebuke.
You would recall the numerous family meetings we had where you were always listened to. Ah, yes - listening. That's another trait he bears so well. He didn't impose his opinions upon you, but wanted to impress upon you that there are always two sides to a coin. When you were at fault, his actions were never punitive. He was mindful that you were living out the vulnerability of youth as he once had. Just recall the time when you and your friends were caught smoking in school, and when you chose to play truant and not go for tuition. I was enraged, and your father thought it was just "one of those things" that boys did. Serious though they were, those meetings never ended on a dour note. Can you still recall the many anecdotes from his childhood that he dispensed so casually that you weren't even aware that it was the lesson of the day? They were moral lessons dished out with his brand of humour. And you thought he was just being the 'historian' father!
He always welcomed your friends because if there's any one who values friendship, it is he. He never had to choose his friends - they chose him to be theirs. He has friends from his childhood, his schools, his college, his university and from God knows where. He's touched them all because of the simple and unassuming man that he is - who never forgets an acquaintance, much less a friend. It amazes me that on several occasions, when we least expect it, there would be someone there who would know him.
If you choose to raise your voice, to cast a disdainful or disapproving glance, to snap because you're irritated, just remember that your father hardly ever does. When you see fit to fret and frown when you can't get what you want; when you choose to give up, or to give in to indolence and mediocrity, think of your father. He is the one who got you where you are today, and has made life comfortable for you through sheer hard work and selflessness. To not make an effort, to not go that extra mile, would be to disrespect his propensity for diligence. Remember his "Don't be afraid to dream" motto? Have you forgotten the notes of advice (booklet) he wrote each of you when you were in your mid teens? As you know, he doesn't write much; but those are words from his heart, painstakingly chosen to guide your entry into the realm of adulthood.
If ever there was one who overcame the odds in life, it is he. He knows no privilege other than that earned through sweat, and yet he never envies those who have it easy, preferring to dwell on the positive. Not one to hold a prejudice or a grudge even towards 'friends' who have let him down, he is inclined to think the best of every one. "The eternal optimist", I would say! In bad times, he does not wallow in self-pity; neither does he blame the world for any shortcoming. His ability to laugh at himself is so endearing, and his up-to-his-eyes laughter so heartwarming. Success and money have not gone to his head. Devoid of fussy tastes, he does not turn up his nose at Bollywood films, nor is he apologetic about his liking for rice, petai and cucur udang. Sad stories on TV move him to tears. His friends say that he is 'London-trained'; to me, and I say this fondly, he is still very much the Kuala boy.
In as much as I would like you to become your own person, it wouldn't hurt to emulate him. If you could be half the man he is, I would have done something right. I have often wished that I had had the time to tell my in-laws that they had done a great 'job' with him. Because, among other attributes, this is a man whose actions are always leavened by humility.
Your father is not an outwardly religious man, but he is certainly God-fearing. If having decency, respect and consideration for others, magnanimity and integrity is not the bedrock of religion, what is? As a wife, hardly a day goes by that I don't feel loved. And respected. Alhamdulillah. And you asked me why I gave up my career when I was in my heyday?! I was enamoured with him from day one, and I am still wowed by his charm. If anything, age has only brought out the best in him. Given my inherent faults - and you know I have many - your father has tolerated them all, and despite the 28 years, I have yet to hear him complain. He endures it with the kind of tolerance threshold that a man should have for his wife (and then some) giving me such a leeway that even you might think that I am taking advantage of his good nature. There is precious little not to love about him. How can you not love a man who is more concerned with your comfort and convenience than his? His golf buddies call him a suami mithali! They also call upon him to organise golf games because he has the knack of making people turn up.
When we were in university, my friends and I used to exchange thoughts about the kind of man we wanted to marry. Some wanted him to be handsome, some wanted him rich. Me? I wanted a 'good' man (without the foggiest idea of what that meant). Now, do you even wonder why I consider him God's gift to me? If he appears saintly, he is not - but close. He is not without weaknesses or failings and he would be the first to admit it. Do I live a charmed life with him? Almost. He regrets he can't give me a 'Taj Mahal', but anywhere with him is my taj mahal.
Would your future spouse say the same of you?
All my love,
Mama
Our wedding anniversary came and went, but none of you remembered because we didn't receive a single greeting. Not even an sms. But don't worry - I won't hold it against you! Just pray that we would have many more to come.
It's our 28th, you know, and I have so much to be thankful for - to and for your father for the most part. We did not give each other gifts on our anniversary. I certainly didn't want one from him. Have I told you that he is God's gift to me, and when you have that, what more could you want? But I thought my gift to him would be to tell you about the kind of man that I married, so you would know more about the man that is your father.
Now that you are all living apart from us, and I am moving towards my twilight years, I worry that I might not have the time nor the capacity to tell you things. Things that I think are important for you to know, to remember lest you forget, or even worse, take for granted. And for you to have an idea of what its been like for me these past 28 years with him. You might think that this is going to be one of those mushy-mushy stuff and I would be going all sentimental. Maybe; but, bear with me, please....
Papa is the embodiment of love. When you were born, I knew I could not have given him a greater cause for happiness. It was as if he was made for fatherhood. It was never too much work, too heavy a burden, or too great a responsibility. He was quick to wake up nights to feed you, change your nappies or simply to take you into his arms, to coo and croon in your baby ears so that you were lulled to sleep. And this from a man who could fall asleep just about any time, anywhere. He ran with and after you, fell off the bicycle as you were learning to ride and ate off the spoon he was feeding you with. When you were cranky, he would take you in the car and drive around the neighbourhood till you fell asleep.
If you thought your teenage years were difficult, they were no easier for him either. While he relished the role of father, he was mindful of the other duties that came with it. Not least of all, that of disciplinarian. But never have I seen such a role undertaken with so much empathy and understanding than that displayed by him. He never shouted, raised his hand, nor saw the need for a cane. Instead, you were made to see your mistakes through gentle words, never harsh ones; to see reason without rebuke.
You would recall the numerous family meetings we had where you were always listened to. Ah, yes - listening. That's another trait he bears so well. He didn't impose his opinions upon you, but wanted to impress upon you that there are always two sides to a coin. When you were at fault, his actions were never punitive. He was mindful that you were living out the vulnerability of youth as he once had. Just recall the time when you and your friends were caught smoking in school, and when you chose to play truant and not go for tuition. I was enraged, and your father thought it was just "one of those things" that boys did. Serious though they were, those meetings never ended on a dour note. Can you still recall the many anecdotes from his childhood that he dispensed so casually that you weren't even aware that it was the lesson of the day? They were moral lessons dished out with his brand of humour. And you thought he was just being the 'historian' father!
He always welcomed your friends because if there's any one who values friendship, it is he. He never had to choose his friends - they chose him to be theirs. He has friends from his childhood, his schools, his college, his university and from God knows where. He's touched them all because of the simple and unassuming man that he is - who never forgets an acquaintance, much less a friend. It amazes me that on several occasions, when we least expect it, there would be someone there who would know him.
If you choose to raise your voice, to cast a disdainful or disapproving glance, to snap because you're irritated, just remember that your father hardly ever does. When you see fit to fret and frown when you can't get what you want; when you choose to give up, or to give in to indolence and mediocrity, think of your father. He is the one who got you where you are today, and has made life comfortable for you through sheer hard work and selflessness. To not make an effort, to not go that extra mile, would be to disrespect his propensity for diligence. Remember his "Don't be afraid to dream" motto? Have you forgotten the notes of advice (booklet) he wrote each of you when you were in your mid teens? As you know, he doesn't write much; but those are words from his heart, painstakingly chosen to guide your entry into the realm of adulthood.
If ever there was one who overcame the odds in life, it is he. He knows no privilege other than that earned through sweat, and yet he never envies those who have it easy, preferring to dwell on the positive. Not one to hold a prejudice or a grudge even towards 'friends' who have let him down, he is inclined to think the best of every one. "The eternal optimist", I would say! In bad times, he does not wallow in self-pity; neither does he blame the world for any shortcoming. His ability to laugh at himself is so endearing, and his up-to-his-eyes laughter so heartwarming. Success and money have not gone to his head. Devoid of fussy tastes, he does not turn up his nose at Bollywood films, nor is he apologetic about his liking for rice, petai and cucur udang. Sad stories on TV move him to tears. His friends say that he is 'London-trained'; to me, and I say this fondly, he is still very much the Kuala boy.
In as much as I would like you to become your own person, it wouldn't hurt to emulate him. If you could be half the man he is, I would have done something right. I have often wished that I had had the time to tell my in-laws that they had done a great 'job' with him. Because, among other attributes, this is a man whose actions are always leavened by humility.
Your father is not an outwardly religious man, but he is certainly God-fearing. If having decency, respect and consideration for others, magnanimity and integrity is not the bedrock of religion, what is? As a wife, hardly a day goes by that I don't feel loved. And respected. Alhamdulillah. And you asked me why I gave up my career when I was in my heyday?! I was enamoured with him from day one, and I am still wowed by his charm. If anything, age has only brought out the best in him. Given my inherent faults - and you know I have many - your father has tolerated them all, and despite the 28 years, I have yet to hear him complain. He endures it with the kind of tolerance threshold that a man should have for his wife (and then some) giving me such a leeway that even you might think that I am taking advantage of his good nature. There is precious little not to love about him. How can you not love a man who is more concerned with your comfort and convenience than his? His golf buddies call him a suami mithali! They also call upon him to organise golf games because he has the knack of making people turn up.
When we were in university, my friends and I used to exchange thoughts about the kind of man we wanted to marry. Some wanted him to be handsome, some wanted him rich. Me? I wanted a 'good' man (without the foggiest idea of what that meant). Now, do you even wonder why I consider him God's gift to me? If he appears saintly, he is not - but close. He is not without weaknesses or failings and he would be the first to admit it. Do I live a charmed life with him? Almost. He regrets he can't give me a 'Taj Mahal', but anywhere with him is my taj mahal.
Would your future spouse say the same of you?
All my love,
Mama
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2 comments:
Wow!!! I'm not sure if it's in my place to comment on your message to your kids, but this is one amazing tribute. Your kids are very, very fortunate, and you are one lucky woman. (And he is one lucky man to have a woman who can appreciate all his goodness.) Were all marriages like that. If my wife wrote this about me, I'd be over the moon.
And you're one amazing scribe. Please continue your blog, especially the other one (My Story as I reminisce...). I just love your story telling, especially kampong / small town stories.
Thanks.
Andrew
Were I to have just one reader, you would be the obvious choice! Thank you for your appreciation. And encouragement!
I hope you will continue to find it pleasant reading, and worthy of your time. My posting has been quite erratic of late - I've been travelling in & out of the country a fair bit these couple of months. Please bear with me.
Thank you for your thoughts & time.
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