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I was raised by a hardworking man who ensured that every one of us stayed in school and well cared for by my mom, who took family matters as a priority and resigned from her job. My father initially served as a police officer but changed his profession to a postman for the remaining part of his career.
I reminisce a time when the familiar figure; olive jacket, a leather sling bag accompanied by a Thermos flask filled with tea and a folded copy of The Strait Times on the other hand as he went out the door. I would hear the unmistakable Vespa chugging off in the wee hours.
Dad is no longer around, yet his memory lives on.
My father was a quiet man and never had a huge social circle, a family trait which passes on to me. He made reservations when it comes to conflicts, never taking sides yet indirectly get caught in crossfires.
I learned this at the mosque from another elderly who approached me, claiming that he knew my old man. We shared a brief conversation, taking comfort on the memories like we discovered…