Life will not always go as planned. There will be moments when things shift without warning. What you hold on to in those moments matters… That a cheerful heart, even in difficulty, is not something small. It changes how you carry the weight.
This is written by me, Charlie, a son-in-law, about my father-in-law, Patrick Tan; a man who has been a source of inspiration in my life.
<Patrick Tan’s Story>
I was born on 17 July 1941, in Singapore, near Dunlop Street. I do not remember everything from those early years, but I remember my family had come from China. My great-grandfather was born in 1830. He came to Singapore as a young man, married, and had a son – my grandfather. Then he returned to China, leaving his son behind. It was not unusual then. Life moved between places. Families were stretched across distance.
My grandfather grew up in Singapore and like his father, sailed back to China to be united with his father, studied hard and became a scholar in Beijing University. He lived a disciplined life and raised his own family there, 2 sons including my father. Years later, my father made the journey south to Singapore with his family. My older siblings were born in China while I was born here in Singapore on 17 July 1941 when the family came to Singapore for a better life.
Even though there was war in those days, we lived well. I remember always driven around in our family car and had pocket money to buy anything. It did not last.
In 1948, my grandfather passed away. A year later, my father died. I was still a boy. At that age, you do not fully understand loss, but you feel the change. My father had his struggles. He drank heavily. There were things I did not understand then but would later come to recognize.
It was my uncle, my father’s younger brother, my cousin Sam’s, father who stepped in. He took responsibility to raise me as his own and provided for us. He sent me to Anglo-Chinese Primary School. At the time, it felt like just another part of growing up. Looking back, it shaped more than I realized.
He also brought me to Kampong Kapor Methodist Church. I went because he brought me. I stayed because something settled quietly within me. At the age of twelve, I accepted Christ. There was no moment of great emotion. It was a simple decision. But it stayed with me, steady and unchanged.
My family lived at 30 Dunlop Street. Life was not as it had been before, but it was stable again. It was there that I met Patricia. There was nothing dramatic about how we met. We spoke, spent time together, and grew close in a quiet way.
After dating for a while, we got engaged in 1967 and were married the following year on New Year’s Day. It even made the news as it was raining very heavily and some places in Singapore were flooded.
We built our life step by step. There was no rush. We had three children, John, Jane, and Joyce. Through the years, my family and I served in church and stayed involved in the community. And I chose, as best as I could, to always remain cheerful and faithful. Not because life was always easy, but because complaining did not change anything. Blaming others did not help. It only added weight to what was already heavy.
So I learned to carry things differently.
The real tests came later.
When Patricia was pregnant with John, she was diagnosed, so we were told, with leprosy.
The word itself carried fear. There were many unknowns. I remember the quiet that followed the diagnosis. Not panic, but a deep uncertainty.
I did not have answers. I did not look for someone to blame. I held on to what I knew.
Acts 4:12. A reminder of where my hope was placed.
John 3:16. Simple, clear, and enough.
In time, Patricia recovered. We moved forward.
Years later, in her forties, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. By then, we understood more about illness, about waiting, about what could happen. There were difficult days. Long ones.
But even then, I did not feel anger rise in me.
There was concern, yes.
There was uncertainty.
But not bitterness.
John 14:2 came to mind often. A reminder that there is more beyond what we see.
We walked through that season together.
And again, she recovered.
Later still came the most serious episode. A severe pancreas illness. She was in and out of consciousness. There were moments when she did not respond at all. She was placed in a high dependency ward.
Romans 8:26 speaks of not knowing what to say, and that was true. Prayer became simple.
Just presence.
Just trust.
Even then, I found no reason to complain. It would not have changed the outcome. It would not have brought peace. So I remained as I had always tried to be-steady, and where possible, cheerful. Not forced. Not pretending. Just choosing not to let circumstances decide my spirit.
And again, she recovered.
Looking back, I do not try to explain everything. I do not know why each illness came, or why each time she was restored. But I know what I witnessed.
There was grace in it.
Faith, to me, has never been about appearance. It is not about saying the right words or showing strength in front of others. It is about what remains when things are uncertain.
Through the years, I continued to serve quietly. In church. In the community. It was never about recognition. It was simply the right thing to do.
My children grew. They built their own lives. There is joy in watching that, in seeing how each one finds their way.
Now, in my later years, I find myself thinking less about what could have been, and more about what has been given.
There were losses. There were moments of fear. There were times when the future was unclear.
But there was also provision. There was family. There was faith that did not leave.
And through it all, there was a choice.
To remain steady.
To remain grateful.
To remain, as far as possible, at peace.
If there is anything I would leave behind, it is not a list of achievements or a record of events. It is something simpler.
Life will not always go as planned. There will be moments when things shift without warning. What you hold on to in those moments matters.
For me, it has been faith.
Quiet, steady, and sufficient.
And perhaps also this:
That a cheerful heart, even in difficulty, is not something small.
It changes how you carry the weight.
It changes how others remember you.
And sometimes, it is the difference between enduring life and truly living it.
<Charlie’s reflection>
When I think about Patrick today, I do not think of a man who had an easy life. I think of a man who chose how to live through it. He did not complain. He did not blame. He remained steady. And somehow, even in difficult seasons, he remained cheerful.
That, more than anything else, is what stays with me.
And that is why his life continues to speak quietly, but clearly to those around him.
Genre: Enlightenment
Tone of Voice: Upbeat
Writer’s Name: Charlie Ang
Contact Email: charlieangkb@gmail.com