1st: Carol Lerh, 15, Tanjong Katong Girls
Tough Love
I point at the sunset outside my window. My favourite colour is orange. He loves it too. He – the guy my father disapproves of indefinitely. Maybe it’s because he never goes to church, his arms are gauntleted in tattoos and he swears a lot. Of course, I didn’t listen to my dad. Why should I when I loved this guy with all of my heart.
He smiles back at me, arms around my waist. We look out of the beach-house together at the sea, painted my favourite colour. “It’s beautiful,” I tell him.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and I smile up at him.
After another moment, we join the rest of the party. My father didn’t let me come here either but I needed to be with him so badly I climbed out of my window to meet him. We get separated in the party. The music is loud, the atmosphere is high and without a drink my senses are already numbing. I am laughing at someone’s smug joke; I am running around the lawn without my shoes in the autumn wind. I fall into someone else’s arms, wrong I know, but it is wild and I love this freedom.
My childhood was tight because I was Asian. My mother died when I was ten and then my father moved us two here in America. We should have stayed in Singapore because here is not somewhere you can tie me to a chair to study while everyone else is partying. He did. He was the only father in our whole town who tied me to a chair when I wanted to go to my girl friends sleepover, he caned me when I scored lower than a B, and he grounded me when I didn’t pass one of his random homework checks.
When he came into my life like a lingering sunset, so fearless, so free, I knew it was time I rebelled. I look up at the unknown blue eyes staring down at me and then at the cup he holds out to me. I see him in the background, watching me in this other guy’s arms. I struggle out and run to him. He takes the cup from the other guy and hands it to me. I take it.
“Drink it,” he says with a smile.
This is my limit. I don’t do booze. Running away to a party is my limit. I never go over it.
He shakes the cup and I watch the sallow liquid run like the sunset. In the dimming evening, it grins at me like fire. I take it. My father’s voice rings in my head. I curse it. Why should I listen to him? What has he done right in raising me up that gives him right over my life?
I take the cup from him and lose myself in the light of his blue eyes, dark brown in the orange sky. Yet the pungent smell of liquor repels me. Bile rises in my throat. I know this smell even though I had never touched it before. I can taste it in my throat. I rack my brain to think why.
“Never drink or smoke, Mu Cheng,” my father’s sharp voice rings in my head, “It will be the death of you.” I never understood that sentence and I still don’t. I see his strong tattooed arms reach out to me. I relax myself for his embrace but instead he uses them to push the cup closer to me.
I still don’t drink. The smell of it…. My eyes water. “I can’t,” I whisper.
“Why not?” he asks, “Is it your father?”
I considered a lie but then I nod, speechless. I am ashamed of my father and his persistently Asian ways. Why move to America then? Sure, he divorced my mother and they lived on either ends in Singapore and I knew he never loved her, or me, so why make both our lives so miserable?
Then I smell it again, stronger this time. The liquor is sour this time and it’s not from the cup I hold in my hands. It’s from someone’s breath. I see myself as a young girl, waking up to see my mother peering over me. I always thought it was a nightmare but now I see it clearer in my mind. Her eyes are wild, looking over me.
I remember the last day I saw her before she was admitted into the hospital and then never set foot outside again.
I remember my father’s pale stoic face, the way he refused to look at me, the anger he always lashed out at me with when I didn’t obey him.
I remember the time he dragged me out to the supermarket. We had to pass by the liquor section to get to the snacks and I wanted snacks so badly I threw a temper. He slapped me right in front of the other people in the supermarket, “No snacks, you hear me? I don’t want to ever catch you buying snacks in here!”
“No,” I say and hand him the cup, “It’s not him. It’s my mother.”
He frowns but this time, he takes the cup from me. “Your mother?”
I nod but I don’t know how to tell him. The car accident she had was not the driver’s fault. It was hers. She had been drinking. “I need to go home now, Denny,” I tell him. He frowns.
“It’s too early.”
“I’m not even supposed to be here,” I tell him. I turn towards the beach again, this time bidding it good bye in my heart. “I need to go home,” I repeat.
He turns from me and waves his hand. “I’m not driving you home, you’ll have to walk.”
I walk; my head full of regret at misunderstanding my father all the long. One day I’ll cry over Denny, but not today. Today, I need to tell my father I love him too.
He smiles back at me, arms around my waist. We look out of the beach-house together at the sea, painted my favourite colour. “It’s beautiful,” I tell him.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and I smile up at him.
After another moment, we join the rest of the party. My father didn’t let me come here either but I needed to be with him so badly I climbed out of my window to meet him. We get separated in the party. The music is loud, the atmosphere is high and without a drink my senses are already numbing. I am laughing at someone’s smug joke; I am running around the lawn without my shoes in the autumn wind. I fall into someone else’s arms, wrong I know, but it is wild and I love this freedom.
My childhood was tight because I was Asian. My mother died when I was ten and then my father moved us two here in America. We should have stayed in Singapore because here is not somewhere you can tie me to a chair to study while everyone else is partying. He did. He was the only father in our whole town who tied me to a chair when I wanted to go to my girl friends sleepover, he caned me when I scored lower than a B, and he grounded me when I didn’t pass one of his random homework checks.
When he came into my life like a lingering sunset, so fearless, so free, I knew it was time I rebelled. I look up at the unknown blue eyes staring down at me and then at the cup he holds out to me. I see him in the background, watching me in this other guy’s arms. I struggle out and run to him. He takes the cup from the other guy and hands it to me. I take it.
“Drink it,” he says with a smile.
This is my limit. I don’t do booze. Running away to a party is my limit. I never go over it.
He shakes the cup and I watch the sallow liquid run like the sunset. In the dimming evening, it grins at me like fire. I take it. My father’s voice rings in my head. I curse it. Why should I listen to him? What has he done right in raising me up that gives him right over my life?
I take the cup from him and lose myself in the light of his blue eyes, dark brown in the orange sky. Yet the pungent smell of liquor repels me. Bile rises in my throat. I know this smell even though I had never touched it before. I can taste it in my throat. I rack my brain to think why.
“Never drink or smoke, Mu Cheng,” my father’s sharp voice rings in my head, “It will be the death of you.” I never understood that sentence and I still don’t. I see his strong tattooed arms reach out to me. I relax myself for his embrace but instead he uses them to push the cup closer to me.
I still don’t drink. The smell of it…. My eyes water. “I can’t,” I whisper.
“Why not?” he asks, “Is it your father?”
I considered a lie but then I nod, speechless. I am ashamed of my father and his persistently Asian ways. Why move to America then? Sure, he divorced my mother and they lived on either ends in Singapore and I knew he never loved her, or me, so why make both our lives so miserable?
Then I smell it again, stronger this time. The liquor is sour this time and it’s not from the cup I hold in my hands. It’s from someone’s breath. I see myself as a young girl, waking up to see my mother peering over me. I always thought it was a nightmare but now I see it clearer in my mind. Her eyes are wild, looking over me.
I remember the last day I saw her before she was admitted into the hospital and then never set foot outside again.
I remember my father’s pale stoic face, the way he refused to look at me, the anger he always lashed out at me with when I didn’t obey him.
I remember the time he dragged me out to the supermarket. We had to pass by the liquor section to get to the snacks and I wanted snacks so badly I threw a temper. He slapped me right in front of the other people in the supermarket, “No snacks, you hear me? I don’t want to ever catch you buying snacks in here!”
“No,” I say and hand him the cup, “It’s not him. It’s my mother.”
He frowns but this time, he takes the cup from me. “Your mother?”
I nod but I don’t know how to tell him. The car accident she had was not the driver’s fault. It was hers. She had been drinking. “I need to go home now, Denny,” I tell him. He frowns.
“It’s too early.”
“I’m not even supposed to be here,” I tell him. I turn towards the beach again, this time bidding it good bye in my heart. “I need to go home,” I repeat.
He turns from me and waves his hand. “I’m not driving you home, you’ll have to walk.”
I walk; my head full of regret at misunderstanding my father all the long. One day I’ll cry over Denny, but not today. Today, I need to tell my father I love him too.
2nd: Deborah Yap Mei Qi, 14, Tanjong Katong Girls School
Father’s Love for His Children
I strongly believe that a father’s love for his children may come in many different ways and forms. The father, firstly, is an individual of his own, just like any other person or being. Different fathers show love in possibly many different ways. Perhaps, the father was raised in the warmest and most affectionate of families which would definitely influence him to be as affectionate or perhaps feel obligated to show more ‘love’ to his children. However, this doesn’t necessarily mean that a father from a less affectionate family will love his children any less. I believe that every parent or father loves their child to their fullest extent.
A father’s love for his children is not solely dependent on the father alone; it also requires the translation of the child. Children commonly misinterpret the love a father may show, they may not understand why a father may do a certain ‘unloving’ action, which leaves them questioning, ‘if my father really loved me as much as afore mentioned, why wouldn’t he let me do this dangerous and possibly illegal stuff?’. Maybe that was how this said father would show his love for the child. By protecting him as much that is possible within his power.
Yet, the action a father shows to represent his love for his children may not be as cute or bubbly as the one from mothers. The way that fathers present their love for their own children is much more thought- provoking or as we like to call it, more ‘realistic’. The father will love his child by bringing it up to be someone who is able to withstand the harshly cruel ‘grown up’ world that mothers seem to avoid. All while teaching his son how to shave. Perhaps this is a global indicator, to show how every father only has his child’s best interest at heart, even if it means a load of misery now, it would definitely be a lot more smooth sailing for when the child grows up.
With years of grueling torment from a father, mostly everyone can agree that a part of the job of being a father, even the smallest bit, is to irritate you beyond comprehension.
As the saying goes, ‘People do things for a reason’. For years, I had been struggling to figure out in what way, would this ever have any benefit for me whatsoever. When one day enlightenment struck me like a swift strike of lightning. It was obviously to harden me and train me to become more resilient to what society has to say. Accept the good and learn from the bad. I couldn’t deny the fact that over the years I had absolutely blocked out whatever teasing comments my father had to say. Of course he did that! He obviously had my best interest at heart, thinking so deeply on how he could help me. Or he could possibly be naturally annoying.
However, all in all we can all accept that a father’s love for his children is unconditional and everlasting. The hardships they go through to protect us yet expose us is a far fetch that only fathers have the ability tolerate yet enjoy at the same time.
3rd: Aaron Ang Wei Xuan, 12, East Spring Primary
Ever since my foster father married my mom, I had been frustrated for the past few years , until one day ,my attitude against my foster father changed. I became friendlier and even called him father !This was what that changed my attitude.
My father had passed away when I was eleven. When I heard that he died from a car crash, I cried and prayed but, that would not help resurrecting him. After that period of time, I lived in sorrow and agony. My mom married an engineer after a few months. I suspected him that he was just acting ever since when he tried to comfort my mom from the car accident. I warned my mom but, she refused to listen a single word from me. She said that I was just hallucinating .Since then, I spent my time locking up myself up in my room talking about bad things about my foster father to my friends.
I spent so much time using the computer to chat with my friends that I slackened my studies. Soon my prelim had came and I never even revised a note! I was panicking but it was late at night the time I thought of that. I did not cared about it and slept .The next day, I wake up with my mind as blank as a sheet of paper .I went to school, taking the examinations with my empty mind .Beads of perspiration rolled down my face as I was doing the test paper .The fact that not a single question was answered made my hand shiver .Time was ticking away, everybody except for me has their hands busy answering the question. When I heard the examiner saying that we had only ten minutes left to finish the test paper, my mind flashed out the idea of copying my friends answer. I had no choice but to obey what my mind asked me to do. As soon as when I see the examiner walking pass me ,I swiftly turned around and whispered to my friend behind me :”how to do this question,” he looked at me frighteningly with his hand pointing beside me .I turned around realizing that a teacher was standing right beside me.
The examiner called me up with a stern look at me. My form teacher dialled my parents and informed them that I had cheated. That day, I walked home myself. I stood in front of my house door, thinking whether I should step in the door or ran away. I told myself since I cheated ,I had to face the music .I opened the door little by little to not alarm my parents but, that did not work, at first I walked into the living room ,then an agitated face flashed through my eyes when I realised it was my mom. She chided me so loudly that my whole house seemed to shake like an earthquake. She took out the cane beside me and started caning me, each cane felt like a whip instead and every stroke was excruciating. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks as I cried than suddenly, my foster father appeared and calm my mother down. I took the opportunity and said:” nice try”, before I stormed into my room .I lied on my bed reflecting what I just done. Although it was very rude, but I just felt like I had done a correct thing instead. After a few days, I was walking to school one morning not noticing anything around me as I was using my phone. The sudden sound of car honking made me looked around, and I stood there paralysed as I was standing alone in the middle of the road with a speeding car coming towards my direction.
I closed my eyes and suddenly felt a push that sent me flying to the opposite side of the road followed by a loud screeching sound of the car .I opened my eyes and saw what that shake my heart ,my foster father was lying down on the road with a pool of blood .I swiftly dialled the paramedics. While waiting for them to come, more and more passers- by came surrounding my foster father. Not long the wailing of the ambulance came. A few paramedics came out of the ambulance with a stretcher; they gently carried my foster father put him on the stretcher and carried him to the ambulance.
I went in the ambulance with him. After waiting for one hour with my mom the doctor came out of his operation room and said that my father is fine now .I walked into his room, seeing that he was bandaged everywhere I cried. After one week, he was discharged from the hospital. He resigned from his job to spend more time with me to help me in revising for my upcoming P.S.L.E. On the day my results were out, it was shocking to see that I got higher than what I expected and I topped my school! I turned around hugging my foster father saying:” thank you dad.” That was the best day of my live. After that horrible car accident, my new ‘dad’ guided me out of the darkness and showed me what’s called, a father’s love.
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