The writer (second from right) with her mother, Tiew Cho (first from left), and her three young daughters. — Photos: CHAN YEE AI
In Malaysia, Parents Day is celebrated on the fourth Sunday in July, which falls on July 27 this year.
My late parents – my father, Chan Kok Yiam, and my mother, Tiew Cho – were a humble, hardworking couple, grounded in simplicity and perseverance.
They earned a living by selling cut fruits by the roadside along Jalan Melayu, or Back Street, in Klang. Today, it is known as Jalan Stesen Satu.
In the early 60s and 70s, Jalan Melayu was famous for its food offerings. Every morning, the place was full of vibrancy and bustled with activity. Stalls and shops sold fragrant chicken rice balls, Hainanese curry rice, noodles, cendol, Chinese medicine, cloth, shoes, jewellery, clocks, and watches.
In the back alleys and along the sidewalks, there were barbers, cobblers and clog sellers. There was a famous Chinese sinseh (traditional doctor) whom people from near and far would wait one to two hours just to consult. My mum used to help relatives by getting them a queue number to save time.
The first bak kut teh shop originated from this street. It was along this very street that my parents would push their fruit cart from Rembau Street (now known as Jalan Tengku Kelana), where we lived, to sell fruits, starfruit drink, pickled fruits, and cigarettes like Three Five, Rothmans, Camel, and Lucky Strike.
My father used to send me to kindergarten (now known as the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes) and later to Convent School (now SRK Convent and SMK Convent Klang) on his old bicycle.
The writer’s father, Chan (pic), valued education and was proud when she gained admission to Universiti Malaya.
He understood the importance of a good education. Being uneducated himself, he would point to the red marks in my school report book and ask me what subjects they were. I would lie and say they were "unimportant" subjects like Physical Education, Art or Moral Studies.
The truth came out when he attended the school’s Open Day. Mrs P Jambunathan, my class teacher, told him that I always failed Mathematics and Bahasa Melayu.
After that, my dad sent me for tuition classes for those subjects. In those days, it was costly, as he only earned a few ringgit a day.
He used to buy me The New Straits Times, and later The Star newspaper, so I could improve my English.
I could feel how proud he was when I finally got a place to study at Universiti Malaya.
My mum helped my dad at the fruit stall. Every day was a 8am to 9pm stretch of hard work, rain or shine. She still had to come home to cook and clean for the whole family in between.
My three brothers and I were looked after by relatives who stayed in the same row of shophouses.
Even during Chinese New Year or other special occasions, it was work as usual for my parents. Back then, I couldn't understand why they never took a day off. Only when I grew older did I realise that a day of rest meant a day without income.
The writer (second from right) with her mother, Tiew Cho (first from left), and her three young daughters. — Photos: CHAN YEE AI
My mum even tried to earn some extra money. She would sew press-stud buttons or hooks on new saree blouses, which she got from Indian tailors. These tailors were always stationed outside the cloth shops along Jalan Melayu with their sewing machines, waiting for customers.
All those years of hard work took a toll on her health. She developed high blood pressure and diabetes.
All these sacrifices my parents made for me and my siblings may be similar to what other parents did for their children.
But what made my parents truly special is that they were my adoptive parents. I was adopted from a relative when I was just two to three months old. My adoptive parents never hesitated to spend money on me so I could have a better life than they did.
Love never discriminates. Though they have both passed on, I am forever grateful to them and deeply indebted.
Happy Parents Day to all parents.
