I do not remember how it all started. Or how things progressed. All that I remember as a 9-year-old kid was that my father brought another woman back from somewhere, and my sister and I were to address that woman as “Ah Yi”. Our aunts were hypothesizing that father was about to marry that woman, and when/if she gives birth to a baby boy, Mum and we girls would be chased out of the house.
I was terrified. I didn’t really understand the whole saga but I couldn’t ask Mum about it because I didn’t want to sadden her further. My sister was still very much a toddler and I didn’t know how and what to tell her about the events that were happening in our lives.
There was once father brought the other woman back on my birthday. He parked his car outside the house and showed me that he bought me a rose. I was about to open the gate when I saw the woman in his car. I shook my head and started crying. My sister was in his car too, but there was no way I could snatch her back from him.
I remember we visited my aunt (Mum’s sister) who was then residing in Melaka with her family. My aunt must have had encouraged my Mum to move away from all the mess so that we could start anew. I am not sure how much thought Mum had put into considering the suggestion but I have never once saw her cry. I have never seen Mum shed a tear because of the burden she had to carry with her.
After the decision to move to Melaka had been announced, there were mixed emotions from our relatives. My paternal aunts and uncles all adviced Mum to stay in Ipoh because they thought that we kids were better off staying together as a family. I have heard all sorts of unfounded conclusions from my maternal aunts who were not only illiterate but who also thought that life would be very unbearable for Mum if she were to raise her kids in a foreign land by herself.
But the courageous woman charged ahead.
We were raised with the notion that we were not like other kids. While other kids had their Daddy and Mummy attend their prize-giving ceremonies, we had only Mummy. And because Mummy had to work to support us, she never had the chance to attend any Parent-Teacher-Association meetings. Whenever she was required to meet our class teachers, we knew she would sacrifice her lunch hour.
We never had our father’s signature on our report cards no matter how stubbornly the cards said “Father’s Signature”. Neither had our dental consent forms and a range of other indemnity and permission forms. In fact, we never had father’s signature on any of our education-related papers.
Despite all these, Mum had never taught us to hate father. She never once bad-mouthed him. In fact, when I was full of hatred towards him, it was Mum who encouraged me to let go of the sad things and accept him as he is. I still do not know from where she found the courage and faith to do so.
And in spite of what father did to Mum, which brought to our leaving our relatives in Ipoh, we had never failed to celebrate Chinese New Years with them in Ipoh. Every year when we were still young, Mum would take us on bus rides that lasted forever just so we could see our Grandparents and other cousins. I will never forget how cumbersome our luggages were and how Mum had to lug them and still hold on to both of us because we were still young and could not afford to carry a bag by ourselves.
It has been more than a decade since all that happened. We have been with Mum through all the highs and lows and throughout our education and growing-up years. We have survived the most tumultuous years without breaking a single bone.
I have never regretted the events that happened in my life. I have never blamed anybody for causing such misery in my life when I was growing up. It was indeed very difficult for a teenager from a single-parent-family to answer questions like “What does your father do?” or “Where is your father?” or “What do you mean you don’t know where your father is now?”
The only regret that I have is to have had allowed Mum the hardships of bringing up us girls single-handedly when she was in her prime years. When other women her age were shaking legs and never had to worry from where the next meal comes, had credit cards to swipe and the only thing that they worry about was whether to have their hair set up or down.
Now, if I wasn’t raised the way I was, would I still be who I am today?
I doubt so.
This is a re-post, and is submitted to Derrick Kwa’s Share Your Story competition. The lucky winner gets to walk away with a copy of Meatball Sundae, Seth Godin’s new book on marketing.
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