A Different Appreciation on Father's Day

There is a new Chinese film, The Dumpling Queen that talks about a single mother of two little daughters, who rose from humble beginnings as a street dumpling seller after being abandoned by her husband and ultimately became a business mogul in Hong Kong. This film is based on the true story of Zang Jianhe, the founder of the renowned food brand "Wanchai Ferry" that specialises in dumplings.

Some people may admire and zero in on her metamorphosis because of her perseverance, but what I appreciate more is her hardship as a single mother as well as a breadwinner. The sacrifices, which she had made to make ends meet before she reached the turning point, have resonated powerfully with me, because my mother is a single mother too.

My father passed away when I was three and my younger brother was two. At that disastrous moment, she had a baby boy... She had been a full-time housewife when my father was alive. After his passing, my mother had to assume the responsibility as a breadwinner because she had five mouths to feed in the family, including her aged in-laws.

Like Zang Jianhe, my mother lacked formal educational qualifications because she dropped out of school after Form 3. She was fortunate enough to be offered a job by her elder brother, but the pay was not enough as she had so many expenses to cover, such as utilities, water bills, food and educational fees for her three children. Despite lacking her formal educational qualification, she understood the importance of education to enable her children to get away from the hardship. She was willing to spend money to send her children to attend private tuitions for academic excellence. To achieve that, she helped her friend at a wet market to sell vegetables in the mornings for extra income. Her friend was generous and would give her some free vegetables to take home so she could save up some money.

She had grown up in a moderately wealthy family. In spite of her hardship, she scarcely sought help from the maternal family. She chose to bite the bullet and learn to be thrifty. She seldom bought new clothes for her. She only bought the needs, not the wants.

When I was in the fourth form, we moved to another town within the same district. The job that her elder brother had offered seemed to be on the brink of dismissal and once again, she was fortunate to get an opportunity to cooperate with a relative on running a snack wholesale shop from scratch. Running a new start-up was never easy. There was at least half a year when the sales revenue was unstable and low, so hiring a helper was a luxurious thought. Hence, I had to help out.

I remember there was once when I was helping out in the shop as a cashier with my mother. A few police officers came to our shop. Apparently, someone had reported to the police that we were selling firecrackers, so they wanted to search the shop for them. After they had searched the shop high and low, they failed to locate the firecrackers. What they found were only boxes of "pop pop", a kind of legal firecrackers for children. However, the police insisted to bring either one of us to the police station to assist with the investigation. Initially, they wanted to bring me away, but my mother instinctively and strongly opposed, claiming that I was only a student so having a record in the police station would ruin my future. She voluntarily offered to go to the police station with them. Before she boarded the police car, she had been handcuffed, at which she was resistant initially but eventually succumbed. I was then left alone and helpless in the shop...

Fortunately, thanks to the help from a few relatives, my mother was released at night on the same day.

When I watched a scene in the movie, as a result of running her dumpling stall in the street illegally, Zang Jianhe was detained in the police station together with her little daughters. She felt guilty to have put them in the awful turmoil, so she apologetically begged the police officer to release them because she was at fault, not the innocent children. This scene has specifically moved me and reminded me of that day's incident. As long as children's welfare is concerned, a mother will selflessly protect them, just like a hen protecting her chicks from a famished eagle.

In 2022, I wrote an article, "Their Unsung Heroine" and had it published in Heart & Soul, paying my tribute to her in conjunction with Mother's Day. This year, the film has inspired me to write a letter of appreciation to her again. She is not only a mother but also assuming the responsibility as a father. Her three children will not be who they are today without her selfless sacrifices over the past thirty years.

Today is Father's Day. I am writing this letter to a person, whose identity may not literally fit her for this celebration, but technically, who does deserve it—Happy Father's Day, mum!

 

Vincent Teh

15-June-2025

Inspiring Word from an Ex-Journo

She started her career at the age of 20 as a newspaper reporter for an English daily and ended her run at the age of 60 as a public-relations (PR) practitioner in a private sector. She takes pride in saying she learned from the best in the industry; Samad Ismail and Adibah Amin among them. She is 70 years old now and has been active on social media by letting her creative juices flow freely and occasionally, tutoring her followers in English.

In some of her posts, she deprecated herself as a cantankerous old sod, who raves and rants occasionally, with equally old-fashioned take on things. However, I think she is a kind soul.

I came across one of her posts about English usage on social media one day and have since followed her posts. I have had a few exchanges with her on the usage of English, seeking her advice on some questions that I had; and she has always been patient to answer all my questions.

I have treated her as one of my teachers in life and I always address her as Kak (a Malay word that means sister) although a lot of her friends and followers call her Opah (a Malay word that means grandma).

This morning, I had another round of exchange with her and was delighted to get her recognition as a potential writer.

The passion for writing has long faded away since I started working in corporates 10 years ago. It is hard to squeeze in some time for writing in virtue of other priorities. It is a lame excuse because it is all about time management and self-discipline. With her inspiring word as a confidence booster, I hope I could progress further.

A snapshot of the conversation between Kak and I

Abdul Samad Ismail

Adibah Amin, the first woman named the National Journalism Laureate

Looking for My "Innisfree"

'The Lake Isle of Innisfree' is one of the poems that I learnt when I was in Form 1. Back then, I did not have much appreciation about this poem though I had read through the analysis and understood its theme.

Fast forward to 20 years later, on a quiet Sunday evening in August 2024, I was sitting and sliding my smart phone on a sofa in my house. I came across this poem again on a random post in Facebook.

Since I graduated from the university in September 2014, I have been working in Singapore, living through a monotonous and robotic life of executing tasks week over week – 10 years have flown without I realise it. Time flies when I have spent most of my time working like a robot every day and rushing through meeting deadlines. My days have just passed like tearing each page away from a Chinese calendar swiftly.

I was sitting on a couch in a flat of a block, standing quietly among other blocks in a city. The night was slowly engulfing the land. Next day, I was going to resume the robotic life.

Deep inside, the voice echoed, "I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree..." – the Innisfree" where I shall have some peace.

Note: This is a journal that I penned on an electronic note in my smart phone when I was sitting in my company's bus that was travelling to my office in the morning the next day after I read the poem. 

A random picture to illustrate the Lake Isle of Innisfree

My First Writing on the First Day of 2025

Today is 1st of January, 2025. The feed on social media is inundated with all kinds of posts about welcoming the new year; crowds flooded the central area for countdown and viewing spectacular fireworks during the New Year's Eve; cell phones started beeping with messages from various parties, sending their best wishes.

As I age, a new year means differently to me and my behaviour has changed over the years. During the New Year's Eve, I have no longer joined the crowd at the central area for countdown like what I used to do roughly 10 years ago; I no longer cudgelled my head over writing a post on social media; but I still sent best wishes to some colleagues and friends. Yesterday, I did not stay up late to welcome the new year and I hit the sack before 11 o'clock.

A new year is actually a point of transition from the past 365 days to the next 365 days on a calendar. To many working adults, it serves as a reminder to develop a new milestone and progress: they strive to make a difference in the new year. 

This year, to me, a new year is literally a point of transition from the past 365 days to the next 365 days. After today (a holiday to most white-collar adults), I believe, a lot of people, including me, are going back to their monotonous daily routine, addressing daily operational issues, making reports, meeting their superiors' expectations and due dates, etc. - the same old things that they have been facing for the past 365 days.

In recent years, I have been pondering over the meaning of life. Should I continue to go through the endless transition from 1 calendar year to another blindly and aimlessly? Should I continue to work like a robot and complete tasks as per instructions? Though some people may claim that there is a corporate ladder that I can climb, is the position sustainable in today's competitive and ever-changing work environment, where employees are dispensable regardless of the level you are in the management hierarchy? Retrenchment has been happening globally, such as Canon (December 2024), Samsung (October 2024) and Dyson (October 2024). [Source: Layoffs and job cuts in Singapore in 2024]  

I have been reading a book, entitled Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop by Hwang Bo-reum for the past few weeks. It is fiction and I have finished about 3 quarters of the book. I personally think it is a good leisure read because it has soothed my worn soul that has been confined in the hustle and bustle of the city for more than 10 years. I enjoyed indulging in the tranquil world that the author has created, whereby the characters live a lifestyle that I have been dreaming of. Besides, it has inspired me to reignite my interest again.

Probably I will pen my review about the book in my next blog after I finish it.

A Dessert that I Can Never Taste

More than 20 years ago, in a small town called Sabak Bernam, I would be dubbed the grandson of “Luck Bee” (a Teow Chew pronunciation of a soup-based dessert) when some adults came across me. I was a primary school student back then.

"Luck Bee", by mere translation, means "six tastes". It is a soup-based dessert with 6 kinds of ingredients inside.

My grandmother was well-known among many adults in Sabak Bernam because she had been selling her signature "Luck Bee" in the small town for yonks. It was way before I was born.

To make "Luck Bee", she would soak malva nuts in a basin filled with rainwater taken from a big pail that was used to collect the rainwater to make them swell, forming a gelatinous mass. It has been traditionally consumed to cool our bodies.

She would start collecting dried coconut leaves that were easily available at the back of her house with countless coconut trees to light fire in a charcoal stove. She would then boil a pot of water on top of it.

After that, she would crack open the hard gingko nut shells to get the ginkgo nuts and wash them with water to remove their thin brown skin. Next, she would cut each of them into half before she could remove its bitter core. She would then put the cut ginkgo nuts into boiling water, put white sugar in the water and let the solution boil until it became concentrated, so the gingko nuts absorbed the sweetness.

She would also cook raw pearl barley and sago. The sago would then be soaked in cold water to avoid them from hardening.

She would then cut dried winter melon strips and dried persimmons into thin slices.

Finally, all the six ingredients were kept in separate containers.

These were the daily preparation works that my grandmother would do since morning. After early dinner at around 6 p.m., my grandfather would put the prepared ingredients in a wooden crate on his bicycle and push it slowly to a spot near a cinema in the town where the wheeled wooden stall was located. He would set up the stall and boil a big pot of water on a paraffin stove. The pot of water would be boiled with white sugar, pandan leaves and dried longans to give the soup its sweet fragrance. My grandmother would walk to the stall later so they could start their operation at about 7 p.m. 

When customers patronised the stall, my grandmother would scoop out small portions of the ingredients from the containers into a small vintage porcelain bowl imprinted with "ping pong kids", ladle out the clear brownish soup and voila, a bowl of steaming hot "Luck Bee" was served! It was charged at 60 sen per bowl back then.

Before I wrote this story, I gathered the information from some of my family members who had helped my paternal grandmother more than 30 years ago based on their best recollection. In other words, I have never tasted my grandmother's signature "Luck Bee" before. When I was a kid, my grandparents had long retired from running their business and the wheeled wooden stall had been sitting at the backyard of my old house, gathering dust. Little did I know about the value of the wheeled wooden stall that had helped them make ends meet. 

Although "Luck Bee" may seem ordinary to many people and there is a wide selection of desserts available today that I can afford to taste, my grandmother's "Luck Bee" is always the most luxurious dessert that I can never taste. 

My grandparents sitting at the front yard of the old terrace house where I grew up before I moved to another town in 2006 at the age of 16.

A Zen Moment in a Dynamic World

At around 7.30 p.m., I happened to notice this magnificent view through the window of my rented bedroom (a master bedroom) in Parc Oasis (a condominium in Chinese Garden) that lured me to take a photo of it.

A huge bank of fluffy cloud was floating in the sky with the sun shying away from the horizon, emitting dimly warm golden light. The spectacular view lulled me to a state of peace.

I stood there for a short moment, gazing and feeling zen before I went for shower. Life goes on.

Her Eternal Absence

On 29th of Jan, 2021 (Friday), I received a saddening news that my maternal grandmother passed away peacefully. It was only 3 weeks before Chinese New Year. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend her wake in Malaysia due to the pandemic, leading to the border closure between Malaysia and Singapore. 

This year, I finally went home under Vaccinated Traveller Lane (VTL) on the second day of Chinese New Year. I felt overjoyed for being able to meet my family although I had missed the reunion dinner and the first day of the festivity.

It was a drizzling night. At about 9 p.m., my aunt invited my mum and I to her house to enjoy her specially made fruit "lou sang".

After more than 1 hour of chit-chat, we were about to leave. My aunt wanted to show something to my mum, so she opened the door of my late grandmother's bedroom.

When I went in, a weird feeling struck me.

The lady, whom I had visited whenever I went back from Singapore, was no longer there. I am no longer able to greet her, talk to her and hear her voice.

What is being left now is the empty bedroom that she used to occupy and her eternal absence.