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It started at the circus arena in Guangzhou. Watching the stunts, dad mentioned those same acts were part of Singapore life in the 1970s, and a chain of sharing began.
Stories flowed of ancestors who made their way to Nanyang, of fishing villages and rubber plantations where great-grandparents lived simply off the land. Hard labour, humble living, yet none of the stress that weighs on us today. I was there to bridge the language gap between the generations, turning words into something all three could share. More than a holiday, it was memory, history and family woven into one unforgettable experience. -
Dad turns 72 this July. He has always been the heart of our kitchen, baking, boiling and stewing with quiet pride. From a generation where men rarely admitted to loving such things, he never hid it. Cooking, gardening, looking after grandchildren and great grandchildren brought him genuine joy. In honour of his birthday, I am sharing his personal recipe for chicken winter melon soup. Try it yourself, or simply let it remind you to appreciate the soft, vulnerable side of the people you love.
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My mother Mary was the strictest person I knew growing up. Curfews, rules, and the cane if we disobeyed. It was hard to imagine she was ever anything else. But she was. Born in 1941, she never went to school like her brothers did. Instead she learned dressmaking and spent her youth on group trips to Changi Beach, riding lorries, eating satay in the sun, and sneaking into midnight screenings to catch famous movie stars in person. Learning this changed how I see her. Before she was my disciplinarian, she was a young woman with a life full of joy.
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At 85, my mother carries a lifetime of quiet courage. Two stories define her. She travelled to Germany over 50 years ago and came back the first woman in her family to wear pants and cut her hair short. Then an electric shock from a faulty heater damaged her nerves and left her with lifelong spinal problems. When she could not bend at all, she learned to pick up a needle with her toes. Change and resilience, in equal measure.
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Every morning at 5:00 AM, my mother was already awake. Not to peace, but to pressure. She cooked, she served, she endured constant criticism from her mother-in-law no matter how hard she tried. When others defended her, it only made things worse. Yet she kept going, walking on eggshells in her own home, never breaking.
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Born in 1938 to a father who believed school was only for sons, my mother never spent a single day in a classroom. By eight, she was already sweeping floors, cooking, and raising her siblings while her brothers were sent to study. Long before she could read a single word herself, she made sure her younger sisters never missed a day of school and only in her twenties, through free night classes, did she finally learn to read and write.
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My father never spoke about hardship in a dramatic way — his strength showed up quietly, in folded laundry, dinners cooked without complaint, a light left on for whoever came home late. No titles, no applause, just decades of steady giving. Now older, all he wants is simple: his children safe, healthy, and home for meals.
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I grew up in a kampung near Yio Chu Kang, one of twelve children in a family where money was always tight. I went on to spend more than forty years as a dedicated assistant chemist, rarely missing a single day of work. My hope is simple: study hard, work hard, and doors will open that earlier generations could only dream of.
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One of my most memorable memories of her is how she never gave up, even during difficult times. After her stroke, she continued to show courage and patience despite challenges she faced. Watching her strength taught me the true meaning of perseverance and unconditional love.
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I once asked my mother, “What was the unhappiest time in your life?” She replied that she felt a sense of emptiness and sadness when I went off to university and started working—that she felt like she no longer had a place in my life. Her colleagues even told me the same thing, saying that during that time, they saw her desk filled with A4 sheets covered with my name written over and over again.
3 months ago
