"Heaven lies beneath your mother's feet."
I first heard that sentence while watching a Hindi movie many years ago. I cannot remember the title, but those words have remained etched in my mind ever since. They spoke of a mother's love and sacrifice so beautifully that I never forgot them.
But what about fathers? Where do they fit into the picture?
Have you heard the saying, "Daddy's little princess" and "Mummy's little prince"? Daughters often share a special bond with their fathers, while sons are said to be closer to their mothers. That was certainly true in my case.I was daddy's little girl.
My father carried me everywhere when I was young. There were times when I would squirm and cry to be put down, not because I disliked being carried, but because the cigarette he was holding would sometimes burn tiny holes in my dress, and occasionally my skin.
He had started smoking when he was only 13. He never really explained why, and perhaps I was too young to understand. Yet what impressed me most was that he quit completely at the age of 60 through sheer determination. But that is a story for another day.
My father passed away in 1995. As a teenager, I was often at loggerheads with him. To me, he seemed conservative, old-fashioned and unwilling to see things from my perspective. It always felt like it was his way or no way at all.
Yet when I look back now, I realise how much of who I am today came from him.
Before I started primary school, I wanted to follow him everywhere. He taught me to love animals when he gave me my first cat, Tom-Tom.
When I started primary one, he sparked my love for reading and introduced me to the beauty of the English language. He subscribed to The Daily Express, The Star, Newsweek and Time, and even bought encyclopaedias for us.
During school holidays, reading became our favourite pastime. Although I was too young to understand many of the words, the pictures were enough to spark my curiosity.
My father was born in 1919 and lived through some of the most difficult years in history. During the final year of the Japanese Occupation, he joined a guerrilla unit and took part in a dangerous mission.
He rarely spoke about those years, as if they belonged to a past too heavy to revisit. One of his brothers died in a plane crash during the war, a loss he carried quietly throughout his life.
Trained as a dresser, what we would now call a medical assistant, he could set broken bones, stitch wounds and even deliver babies.
In fact, he delivered my brother while serving at the dispensary in Tamparuli, Sabah.
Later, he was transferred to Kota Marudu, where he spent several years serving rural communities and working with the Flying Doctor Service.
Because of his postings, my brother and I did not see much of him. It was mostly just my mother, my brother and me at home.
Then, after retiring from government service, our parents' roles reversed. My mother became the family's breadwinner, while my father became a stay-at-home father.There is another detail that often surprises people.
My father was 52 years old when I was born.
By the time I was in primary four, he was the one cooking our meals, doing the laundry and taking care of the household.
Some might have seen this as a humbling role for a man of his generation. To me, it felt completely natural. He never complained. He simply did what needed to be done for his family.
And despite his age, he never looked old. Tall, dark and handsome – that was how I saw him. No wonder my mother fell in love with him.
My father was not a perfect man. He smoked. He drank. He gambled. But he was my father.
He made sure we received an education. He was strict and firm, yet deeply loving in ways that did not require words. His love was expressed through sacrifice, responsibility and quiet acts of care.
When I think of him today, I do not just see my father. I see an animal lover who taught me compassion. I see a war veteran who served his country in its darkest days.
I see a frontline healthcare worker who cared for the sick and injured. I see a lifelong reader who opened my eyes to the world through books.
I see a devoted husband and loving father who always put his family first.Most of all, I see a man who lived with dignity and served others without seeking recognition.
He was respected by those who knew him and remembered fondly by those whose lives he touched.
More than 30 years have passed since he left us, yet his influence remains woven into the fabric of my life. In many ways, I still carry him with me: in the books I read, in the animals I care for and in the values I try to uphold every day.
He will always be larger than life.
