Dad's demise: eight weeks on

It's been eight weeks.

Every time I think I've got my emotions in check, I'm proven wrong.

It's the simplest things that trigger off a tsunami of tears: photos, TV shows, sports, food, books and, of course songs.

Two weeks ago, I was at my second brother-in-law's home celebrating Mothers' Day with the hub's side of the family. BIL was channel surfing during a commercial break (the whole family was glued to the TV set, watching the overly dramatic Taiwanese saga about the intertwined fates of a biscuit-making family and their cronies) till the remote control settled on the Manchester United vs Leicester City match. I immediately turned my attention to the game and threw in several comments on the missed opportunities and lame foul attempts by some players. BIL looked visibility surprised and remarked, "Eh, I didn't know you watch football also?!" to which I replied, "Ya, I used to stay up late on Saturdays to catch the games with my Dad."

And that was it. Images of Dad and I watching football matches flashed before me. Dad's favourite team? Manchester United. (Although I'm not quite sure if Dad would have approved of the current players' horrendous display of sloppiness and terrible mismanagement of the team.)

I had to hold back tears as I didn't want to openly weep in front of the family.

Those weekend TV matches were our dad-daughter bonding moments. Although I don't play football, I appreciate the game and in truth I think I forced myself to understand it because I know Dad loved it. And I really just wanted to have something in common with him to talk about.

The other sport that we both love is tennis, and unlike football, I can actually wield a racquet decently and produce a pretty lethal forehand. Credit to Dad who introduced me to the game and paid for my tennis lessons.

The only sport Dad wanted me to take up but I flatly refused (and genuinely dislike) is golf. He forced me to accompany him to the driving range a few times and I reluctantly tagged along. He was disappointed, needless to say, that I wasn't enthusiastic about golf and after a while, he totally gave up. But he would still remind me - even when I was in my 20s and 30s - that I was silly never to embrace golf like him.

Dad's a natural at sports. He was a swimmer, athlete and golfer (lots of medals and trophies to prove it). He could play most racquet games and ball games too. I've seen him bowling and even playing darts and snooker/pool. And in his later years, he became a firm believer and practitioner of Qigong and Tai Chi.

A true sportsman in every sense. His favourite athletes were the ones who embodied the true spirit of sportsmanship, and he had great respect for those who accepted defeat graciously. And these were the same principles he applied to his business and personal life.

Sometimes I still can't believe that he's no longer with us. He's been such an inspiration and major influence in my life, and I wish I told him that much earlier. I did, however, reveal this to Dad hours before he passed on. Although he appeared to be in comatose stage and couldn't respond directly to me, his erratic heartbeat slowed down and stablised considerably after I made my peace with him. I believed he heard my heartfelt confession and pardoned me for all the times I angered/disappointed him.

I couldn't sleep a few nights ago, tossing and turning till I woke up at 4.00 am. Something was troubling me and I felt the sudden urge to rummage through old photo albums. After sorting out over 20 albums in my possession I realised, most regrettably, that I have no more than 20 photos taken together with Dad.

For two reasons.

Number one: 80% of the photos feature Mum as the star model and if I'm in it, I play the role of her visibly reluctant sidekick.

Number two: Mum's way better in front of the camera than she is behind it.

Proof that Mum's photo composition skills aren't impressive. It looks presentable here because I edited it!

Honestly, I'm no camerawhore and don't quite like being photographed (which explains why I hardly take selfies). Dad's quite camera shy too but he will pose with Mum when she insists.

I gathered a few photos from the albums and promised myself that I'll spend some time salvaging the old, discoloured, scratched ones over the next few months or so. Managed to touch one up today but my Photoshop skills are truly rusty, and I took way too long. Wasn't quite pleased with the results, but will have to set this personal project aside and get back to my kids now.

Dad, I'm going to undertake this photo restoration project - not just photos of us, but that of our whole family. Doing this as a gift to my girls as well, so that they'll have a glimpse to my growing years with you and Mum, and through these photos and stories, they'll learn how you inspired me to be who I am today.

Still missing you very much.

Back Up EVERYTHING

Horrors!

All my previous blog posts on Multiply have been wiped clean! They've pulled the plug and deleted everything!

My postings, photos and poems...GONE.

I tried to search for cached items and managed to retrieve a few random postings and half my poems. Thankfully I managed to "save" some. But the majority of my blog posts have disappeared. :(

So now I'm going to back up the poems, including the ones I've posted here, into my hard-drive and keep several copies in multiple storage places. These are sentimental pieces which I'd love to present to my children as memories when it's my time to leave this material world.

Lesson learnt: BACK UP EVERYTHING!

Proofead. Poofread. Proofreed. Proofread!

Here's the link to my second article I wrote for 938Live's English@Work.

Unfortunately the linked site removes some punctuation marks (like apostrophes) in my article. Irony? I'm writing about proofreading!


Proofead. Poofread. Proofreed. Proofread! 

We spend a third of our time at the office writing emails, reports, letters and other documents. In our haste to meet deadlines, we inadvertently make spelling, grammatical and typographical errors. We’re also guilty of “cut-and-paste” jobs which show inconsistency in font type, size or colour.

Proofreading – or the lack of it – says plenty about our work attitude. We all know colleagues whose shoddy standards leave much to be desired and we end up correcting their mistakes. While we can’t always be perfect, we can minimise errors by proofreading our work.

1) Check the squiggly lines. Don’t ignore the red lines (spelling mistakes or unrecognisable words) and green lines (grammatical errors e.g. sentence fragments) as these help in editing the first draft. Be careful not to be over-reliant on them because they won’t pick out wrongly-used words that are spelled correctly.

2) Review on a hard copy. The glare from computer screens can be strenuous on our eyes, making it difficult to edit. Printing out your document and reviewing it on paper helps you catch errors you could have previously missed.

3) Take a break. Put away your work for a few hours, or even days, if possible. The rest will do wonders to your mental and physical state, and you will gain a new perspective to your document.

4) Get “a fresh pair of eyes." It’s tricky picking out your own mistakes if you’ve been staring at it for too long. Ask someone to review the piece. It helps if this person hasn’t read it before and may be able to spot errors which escaped you, especially when editing for content.

Acquiring proofreading skills isn’t just for writers and editors. It’s useful for anyone who understands the importance of producing and delivering quality work.

Written by Teo Yuan Ching
Temasek Polytechnic's Division of Communications & Media Management