Contributed by Wendy ML Tan • Jun 17, 2025
At the time when all the “fathers” stood up during Celebrations, I felt the pang of missing my late Pa. That feeling was compounded by the unease that I had to write this weekend. Knowing that I had to spend time recalling my memories of him was hard. Numbed, I almost teared up during our Engage Huddle session. I asked God, “Why? What is it that you want me to convey through this piece of reflection?”
My Pa was no handyman. Neither am I. I tried fixing the bathroom lights lately and I failed. For a week, I would shower with minimal light shining from my phone’s torchlight function. I had to wait for my big brother to recover from a bout of flu before he could come over to help me adjust the bulb properly. My pa did however, single-handedly paint my bedroom walls in pink because it is my favourite colour.
My Pa was no mechanic either. Whenever there was a problem with one of the cars, he would bring it to a particular workshop in the neighbourhood simply because the shop owner spoke his native Hainanese dialect. He admitted that he was often charged a little higher than the market rate but he did not seem to mind all that much about it. Likewise for many years, I would send my car to my regular service centre even though the warranty had long expired. The people there were familiar and I knew my car would return in good condition. I only decided to look for an alternative mechanic when I was no longer earning a full-time pay.
My Pa was, however, a teacher, then a lecturer and an Education Ministry officer. I remember the time when he used to bring me to the “Koperasi Kedai Buku” in UM to buy me storybooks and when he roped me in to help him prepare the timetable for “Institut Bahasa” – that is why my CG quarterly schedules today are colour-coded. Years ago, I saw my late Pa’s workbooks lined up on the shelves at a book fair and I reminisced on the days that I sat on a stool next to him as he typed away on the computer. When I was 8, I was photographed for the cover of one of his earlier works. My brothers never had such experiences. These were precious father-daughter moments that I will always cherish in my heart.
But for most of my life, I avoided both teaching and writing as career paths because I have seen how my Pa would sit in front of the computer and work against deadlines. His eyes would turn red and teary as cigarette smoke filled the room. He would go for long walks in the evening or he would drive downtown and be out till late. He was a hardworking man. It was only in his retirement years that I got to see him enjoy life a little more as he spent time playing with his granddaughters or telling them stories.
Undoubtedly though, I carry my Pa’s DNA, and God led me to pursue a degree in Education. During orientation week at the university, I rang my Pa up to ask if I could leave and take up other courses at the local colleges. Pa usually gave in to my wants and fancies, but this time, he gave a resounding “no”. “Do you know how hard it is to get into UM and you want to quit? No.” After completing my studies, my Pa relented and allowed me to choose my own career path. I went on to work at the bookstores for almost two decades. My Pa loved it when I would often bring home books for him to read. He would spend days reading and sometimes rereading them. Though more often than not, the pages he flipped the most were of his Study Bible.
Today, I serve on the Engage writing team alongside a small group of churchgoers and pastors. Due to my studies, I too would sometimes have a lot on my mind so much so that I would take leisure evening drives out or have late night supper on my own. While I do not smoke (at least not since my early 20s), I would snack on chips or junk food as I work on my papers. Still, I know that I am not as diligent as my Pa was.
And teaching? Well, let’s see how far my studies would take me. I am still trying my best to wiggle my way around it. At least for a start, I survived co-leading the facilitation of the recent Bible study on Ephesians.
As I end this sharing, what comes to mind is what you could say about me – that I am like a chip off the old block. Like father, like daughter. And I hear the one phrase that God is saying to me now: “Be Christlike”. Just as much as I take after my late papa in many ways, I too should continue to grow deep in my walk with Him and be more like Jesus every day. Shalom, and God bless.