CHAPTER FOUR

TRADITIONAL VIRTUES

My father and mother instilled in me the ideals of honesty, gratitude, loyalty, forgiveness, doing no conscious harm to others, aspiring to improve oneself, being content with one’s lot, respect for others, and accountability for all our actions. The fact that my parents were devout Christians was perhaps merely incidental. I’m sure they would have upheld the same ethical notions had they been, say, Buddhists, Hindus, or agnostics.

Father insisted that, as Christians, we should set ourselves very high standards in our interactions with society. We must be completely honest and sincere in all our dealings. We must not cheat, tell lies, or knowingly harm others. He told us being honest was the most efficient way to conduct our lives. Being honest was ultimately profitable, he reasoned. Being arrested, fined or imprisoned for dishonest practices was not only ruinous in financial terms, it would also destroy our reputations, discredit our family name, and jeopardize our careers. Father was a fine example of a pragmatic idealist.

A quiet, shy, and extremely private person, my father seldom, if ever, said grace at meal-times or prayed aloud - whether at home or in public. “Grant unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar” was one of my father's favorite quotes from the New Testament. He was certainly no tax dodger, and believed it was important to pay our taxes in full if we wanted to live in a compassionate and just society. In hindsight, my parents’ robust moral standards went a long way towards redeeming the less noble facets of Christian fundamentalism.

“We must always be thankful to God, and to our fellow men, for all we have received, because life can be precarious,” my father would repeatedly remind us. He had lived through the Japanese occupation of Malaya from December 1941 to August 1945, and had vivid memories of hunger and deprivation. “Be grateful for the smallest morsel we receive,” he said.

Gratitude is ingrained in me. When I finished high school in Malaysia in 1971, my parents didn’t have enough funds to finance me through college. I managed to borrow M$200 (US$80) from my mother's younger sister for the initial payment to study accountancy at a private college. There were ten more monthly payments of M$75 to complete the first of the three-year accountancy course. My father, a government clerk, had little by way of savings.

My mother, then 42, had never worked, but she rolled up her sleeves and secured a job as a cook in a ceramic factory about 2 kilometers (1.2 miles) from home. Her monthly pay was M$80 (US$35) during her first year, and when she became chief cook, her pay increased to M$100, a whopping twenty-five percent increase. Despite the long hours and the exhausting work, she viewed it as a rewarding experience. Going out to work opened up a whole new world for my mother. Her evangelical zeal thrived in the new environment. The factory staff really loved her cooking, and she soon became their spiritual counselor as well. Quite a few souls in that ceramic factory were saved from hell and damnation during my mother’s tenure as chief cook.

Six days a week she worked at the factory while attending to her usual chores at home. She started work at 7:00 a.m. and finished at 6:00 p.m. She had to leave home by 6:30 - but before that she would do the washing and hang out the clothes. After serving breakfast she would prepare lunch, leaving the food for my father and my brothers on the dining table, covered with a fly screen. Upon returning home at 6:30 in the evening (after a 2-kilometer uphill trek), my mother would cook the evening meal. As we ate, she would bring in the laundry and begin ironing clothes. Then she would feed herself and wash the dishes. None of the menfolk ever offered to help. In a traditional Asian home men are not expected to do housework. Few Chinese girls today would put up with such male chauvinism, especially those who have studied abroad.

As a student in England, and subsequently as a migrant in Australia, I quickly realized the disadvantage of not having had any training in basic household chores like cooking, dishwashing, laundry and ironing. I had to learn the hard way, through trial and error, but now I appreciate even more acutely the sacrifices my mother made for her family.

At the end of every month for two whole years, my mother handed her hard-earned pay to me in an envelope. This motivated me to finish my accountancy course in the shortest time possible. I began giving private tuition to high school and junior accountancy students to supplement my mother’s subsidy. And so I completed the British accountancy course in two years instead of the usual three years. With a recommendation from my senior lecturer at college, I immediately accepted a position as a senior lecturer in accountancy at the MARA Institute of Technology in Shah Alam. My starting salary as a senior lecturer was more than double my father's clerical wage.

Within a few months, I was able to repay my loan to my mother's younger sister (bless her memory) and I endeavored to repay her kindness by showering gifts on her family. I was relieved my mother was able to quit her job when I became a lecturer.

My father was a kind person. He loved feeding stray dogs and cats. Despite his modest means, he always had some spare change in his pockets to give to those in need. He detested office politics and assiduously avoided it, often to the detriment of his own career. He believed that only God was qualified to judge.

On the last day of my father's life, he was in a state of contentment, at peace with himself. He summoned my mother to his bedside for a quiet chat. She told us later he was unusually happy and jovial. He seemed to know his time on Earth was at an end. He shut his eyes and rested his right hand on his forehead, mumbling something as he dozed off. My mother left his side briefly to attend to some household task. A few minutes later she returned and discovered he had stopped breathing. He was 69 years old.

When I was a lad in high school, I told myself I’d be the happiest man in the world if I could obtain a college education. This would mean a good, steady career, a family home, and a reliable car. A Volvo sedan would be perfect, I thought. Ten years later, after I had attained all these goals, I wanted more. Now if I could migrate to a “developed” country like Britain or Australia, my life would be complete. Another five years down the line, that was achieved. My ambitions mounted. I set my sights on a top-paying position in the IT industry. That took another five years to materialize. Was I satisfied?

Next I desired to own more city investment apartments, and to enjoy more vacations abroad. Where and when would my ambitions end? In my zealous quest for wealth and success, I lost touch with my heart. I realized, almost too late, that my family was barely tolerating me. Outright rebellion erupted in 1999 and I didn’t know how to handle it. That was an excruciatingly difficult time for me. My anxiety levels rose rapidly. I feared I would lose what I truly cherished and loved.

Until my daughter turned sixteen, I never attended any of my children's school activities. I felt a deep sense of shame and remorse when my wife pointed this out to me. Where had I been all those years when my two children were growing up? When I moved into Information Technology in 1984, my work took me away from home for weeks at a stretch. Living out of the proverbial suitcase, I spent less than half my time as a father and husband. During my annual leave, I would opt to visit my parents in Malaysia for a week or two – usually without my wife and kids. I was in acute danger of losing touch completely with my own family.

Like most Asian fathers, I assumed that since I was providing the financial needs of my immediate family, they would be grateful and satisfied. I bought my wife a car and paid all the household bills. I didn’t think they would need much else. I was utterly unaware that there was a problem. Looking back, I wonder how I could possibly have been so insensitive and self-centered.

My wife and kids, bless their hearts, decided to give me another chance. Unfortunately, by the time I realized the folly of my self-obsession, both my children had reached their teens - and teenagers tend to prefer the company of their peers rather than “hang out” with their “uncool” parents.

Despite my fervent Christian fundamentalism as a teenager in Malaysia, I went through a rebellious phase: against the wishes of my parents, I kept my hair long and wore tight pants (would you believe I was a Beatles fan?). However, as a compromise, I did keep myself and my long hair clean - and my clothes were always freshly laundered, thanks to my hardworking mother, who passed away peacefully after a long illness towards the end of 2004. Sadly, she died convinced that I had disqualified myself from joining her in Heaven – simply because I no longer worshiped Jesus Christ as God, nor did I accept the Holy Bible’s absolute inerrancy.