My earliest memories are punctuated by the sound of shouting. In 1971, when I was barely 7 years old, I stood as a small witness to the fierce quarrels between my father and my late eldest brother. As I grew up, these contradictions became the soundtrack of our lives, usually centered around our family's shoe shop and clothing stalls in Chinatown.
In the court of family opinion, the verdict was almost always the same: my father was "wrong." He was judged as a man who didn't fulfill his role, who wasn't "burdening" enough for the family’s success.
But as I look back from the vantage point of 2026, I have to ask: Was that actually true?
Let me finally put to rest what my father did right: the truths that were buried under decades of criticism:
Unseen Labor: He worked grueling, long hours. I remember him hauling boxes of goods and equipment to set up our 2 stalls in the heat at Trengannu Street, and subsequently, at Pagoda Street, Chinatown, day after day, until we finally moved into the Chinatown Complex in 1983.
The Dignity of Silence: He never complained. He never made a noise. In our house, his silence was often mistaken for an admission of fault or weakness. In reality, it was a profound display of endurance.
Unwavering Loyalty: Through every storm, he stayed. He never once harbored a thought of divorce or leaving us. He was the constant, even when he was the target.
The most heartbreaking moment of my life happened in 1977. I was only 13. I watched, paralyzed, as my father was struck in the head with a chair by our own employee named "Ah Huat." We were outnumbered; we could do nothing but watch as his head bled.
He took the blows, physical and verbal. How much can one man take?
I am not writing this today to "dig out worms" or reopen old wounds. I am writing this to document the harsh effects of disputes on the human spirit. When we argue in harsh terms, we blind ourselves to the heavy loads the other person is carrying.
Love Intelligence Reflection
In Love Intelligence (LQ), we learn that conflict is often the result of failing to recognize a person’s "Quiet Contribution"
. We were so busy judging my father’s "failures" that we ignored his sacrifices. High LQ teaches us to replace harsh contradictions with a desire to understand. It asks us to look at the "bleeding heads" and "heavy loads" of those we love before we raise our voices in judgment. From now on, let us choose to speak in the language of Love Intelligence rather than the language of war.
This is the third in a series of articles dedicated to honoring my late father and applying the principles of Love Intelligence to the relationships that matter most.
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