Dad, thanks for teaching me the importance of things easily overlooked
The author with her father in 1985
Ms Yong Yoek Ling, co-founder of a training academy, thought her father did not support her dreams when she was young. Only to realise years later that his sacrifice had in fact made her dreams possible. Here’s a letter she wrote to him reflecting on this.
Dear Papa,
I was usually the first person you saw when you came home from work.
As a kid, I could always be found plastered against the metal grilles of the gate to our flat in Chai Chee, bent over my latest book.
I remember spending hours there, combing through volumes of Enid Blyton and classics such as The Swiss Family Robinson.
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I loved our trips to the MPH bookstore at Parkway Parade, agonising over which books I would bring home.
It was books that first birthed my dream to study overseas. Whether it was James flying across the Atlantic in a giant peach or the Naughtiest Girl getting on a train to boarding school, these images of worlds I had yet to know seized my imagination.
It was the first time I knew I wanted something without knowing when the desire even began.
But I could never share this with you, because you didn’t read English.
Years later, an 18-year-old me sat at the huge kitchen table in our little flat, filling out my application to the National University of Singapore.
The same table that had seen me through many nights of studying late into the night, while imagining my future studying overseas. You asked me what I was doing.
“I am applying to NUS,” I said. “Just in case”.
And you went, “See, after all this trouble, you’ll end up staying here in Singapore anyways.”
With hardly a breath’s pause, you added: “Kaykiang (smart alec).”
Anger rose within me and I felt the tears well up in my eyes. Kaykiang.
I hated it when you used that word; I hated how you brought me down each time I tried to spread my wings and fly.
And so, I worked hard; I was determined to earn my prize.
When I did get my own giant peach in the form of a full scholarship to University of California Berkeley for my undergraduate studies, I could not help but return the scorn, thinking, “I did it on my own, despite you.”
When I returned, I started volunteering with girls from ‘at-risk’ families through Beautiful People.
You never understood why I would spend my time with people I did not know, but it was to be the journey that would help me really know you.
The mission of this volunteer group was to provide exposure that creates possibilities. I started a work-based mentoring programme, ‘Good Work’.
The idea was to provide a system of support for the girls both at work and in life.
On the first day, we brought everyone together for the preparatory training, telling stories of how we learnt about what work involved, and what it meant to us.
I shared a story about your blue uniform.
How you would bring home all six sets of your uniform, often stained with black grease, at the end of your factory shift on Saturdays.
You would put them all in the washing machine and, when they had been washed and dried, iron each and every single set of those blue shirts and grey pants.
And then you would pack them all into your backpack, ready for yet another week of work.
You did this all throughout my growing up years. Twenty years. 1,188 weeks.
It was a simple act of work that had accompanied my growing years, but I realised that not everyone had grown up with that.
As I shared my story, it dawned on me: the gift of consistency and steadfastness you had given me all these years.
I’d always thought of myself as a self-made success, making it despite your lack of support.
But for the first time, I saw the gifts that had always been there.
You taught me the importance of things far too easily overlooked: showing up, taking pride in what I do, and walking with dignity, whatever my station in life.
So many years after that conversation about going to university between you and my 18-year-old self, I finally asked you, “why did you say what you said?”
At first, you denied that it ever happened.
And then, after a pause, you said, “I think I just didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
I had no words. But I remember feeling an overwhelming tenderness for the love that seeks to protect, and sadness for how you learned to stop dreaming.
Being the first-born in a family of five children, you left school at 16 to plunge into the world of work and help provide for the family.
Most of all, I felt gratitude.
Grateful for the invisible graces that had made it possible for my dreams to come true; for the stability your steadfast diligence gave to our family; for being born in the age of Singapore’s prosperity and even for being ‘smart’ in the way that examinations tested for.
All of which were gifts I had done nothing to deserve, but received anyway.
Last year, I won a scholarship that sent me to Harvard for my graduate studies, where I met a young man named Andrew, from Uganda.
The first time we met, he told me how his entire village had gathered around him for a send-off, telling him that he was going, not just for himself, but for all of them.
As a young girl going to Berkeley, I had gone for myself and by myself, an accomplishment I thought I had won on my own merit.
Last year, when I went to Harvard, I went carrying not just my hopes and dreams, but also yours.
Going away was easy, but staying is harder.
While bravery is needed to venture into a world unknown, I also need courage, to choose to stay and confront what I resist, and to choose to belong.
From a road paved with works, I now try to tread gently on a path lit by grace.
Thank you, Papa, for all the graces you bear.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Yong Yoek Ling, a former Public Service Commission and Lee Kuan Yew scholarship holder, is the founder of Bold At Work, a training academy for young people. This is adapted from an essay which first appeared in The Birthday Book 2018: The Roads We Take, a collection of 53 essays by a range of Singaporeans and Singapore residents reflecting on our individual and collective journeys to mark the Republic's 53rd year of independence. TODAY will be carrying other essays from the book in the coming weeks.
