2025 covered quite a few life-changing events:

• The death of my father
• Graduation from University
• Marriage
• Returning to work

The Death of My Father

My relationship with my father has always been a bit tricky over the past 10 years. To give some context, my parents divorced when I was around 10 years old, and I lived with my mother from rental room to rental room, until we finally settled in an HDB rental flat in 2012.

I was never really that close to my Dad for many reasons — he was an alcoholic, and he often enjoyed joking around even when I needed him to be serious. I always wanted a close relationship, but because of this dynamic, it was often too hard.

I remember clearly the point where I decided to cut him off from my life. It came down to two key events that happened in close proximity.

The first was personal: a boxing match I had trained hard for, and my first time fighting in the ring. I spent countless days dieting, exercising, and preparing for that day, and I invited him because he had loved boxing in his younger days too.

On the day itself, my Dad turned up drunk and caused a scene, shouting and cheering drunkenly — which, to him, might have seemed like the right thing to do. But it left me shaken and anxious. I totally lost focus and lost the match. I remember the anger and embarrassment as I sat in a toilet cubicle with my bloodied nose. I just needed him to be normal once, I thought to myself. That hurt me deeply.

The follow-up incident was when my mother’s nephew — my cousin Nigel — was getting married. My dad was a no-show at the wedding because he ended up being drunk and was embarrassed to come. I could forgive being let down by him. But I couldn’t forgive him for letting down the people dear to me.

After that, it was pretty much off and on, with contact mostly happening through my mother. I did try reaching out sometimes in between, but it always turned sour — mainly because he refused to take accountability for some of his actions. I could forgive wrong, but I couldn’t turn a blind eye to the lack of accountability or the self-victimisation. To this day, those two traits deeply irk me.

Halfway through university (in Brisbane), when I returned to Singapore, I visited him to bring him food and see how he was doing, as he was already ill at the time. But it didn’t last long before things soured again for the same reasons.

Drink → Drunk text → Refusal to take accountability → Disagreement and resentment.

Fast forward to somewhere in April–May 2025: my uncle reached out to tell me my father had been admitted to the ICU and was mostly unconscious. Looking back, it’s a blur — the window from that initial contact to his passing felt incredibly short. I remember vividly receiving the call while I was rushing final-semester assignments, being told, “Dad passed.” I quickly scrambled to book a flight back to handle the funeral proceedings and everything else that came with it.

I was filled with anxiety for many reasons. Not only was this the first funeral of a loved one so close to me, but I also had to face my father’s entire family for the first time in many years. Would I be seen as the bad son who abandoned his father? Would I be the villain, surrounded by stares? It was nerve-wracking. Despite it all, at the very core, he was my father. I still loved him, and I will always remember him for his good moments.

As I grew older, I realised his alcoholism stemmed from his inability to express or deal with his emotions. All the sorrow, depression, and hurt he carried, he drowned in alcohol. It was heartbreaking — but he was so deep into it that even I could not help him any longer. The best I could do was be there for him. I shared about the problems he had. Despite it all, he fought to be a good man to others.

He always gave beyond what was necessary. He always joked despite the pain he carried. He always wanted to be around others. This was my father.

And reflecting back, we carried a lot of similarities. The only difference was that I had the opportunity to see the flaws he carried, and I had the chance to prevent myself from making the same mistakes. It was unfair for me to expect him to be perfect. Parents never are. It’s their first time at life too.

Getting back to the funeral itself: none of the doubts I had were true. I was surrounded by so much love and support, even from family I had been away from for almost a decade. I’m also so thankful to my cousins on my mother’s side, my friends and colleagues, and most importantly my lovely wife, for being there to support me throughout the way. Uncle Brian (Mum’s brother-in-law) was such a huge support to me through this entire period.

I kept it together and stayed strong and steady until the sealing and carrying of the coffin, and the transport of the hearse. That’s when I really started to crumble. It felt like a sucker punch because I’d been holding everything together — even smiling. Delivering the eulogy was much worse. I completely broke down. I felt like a boy saying goodbye to his father. It took me back to all the good memories as father and son.

This entire event was a huge wake-up call for me — both about the real problem being alcoholism, and about my own take on grief and death. To be very honest, I still don’t understand the purpose of funerals or wakes. Because of my faith (Christianity), I’ve always believed the dead are with God, and no longer under the curse of sin or the suffering of flesh. I never understood the concept of mourning or saying goodbye. But I could see how much it meant to the people there who had been by my father’s side all this while. The reunion and social gathering is what mattered to most of them — celebrating the life he had, and the person he was.

It was truly a moment of learning for me, having to deal with people being concerned about me — especially as someone who always acts so grounded and strong. It was a lot to take in. It was stressful and tiring, constantly interacting with others.

My honest takeaway is this: even though my dad may not have been the best father, he was a good person (I always knew this). But not just a good person — he was a good person to so many people. He built so many endearing memories, and brought smiles and laughter to so many others.

Reader, as you read this, I hope you realise that no matter how imperfect you might be, you are loved and endeared by many around you. And I wonder: how many lives can I impact, and what marks can I leave behind, before my own passing?