My father’s words

I came home to stacks of faded and yellowish paper, all packed neatly at our living room, ready to be sold to a rag and bone man. I realised those were my father’s! Finally… after years of stacking them on the table, he has decided to get rid of them.

Curious me decided to look through the stacks of paper. I stumbled upon this piece which had a poetic yet poignant title – <雨丝,思雨>.

It was undeniably my father’s handwriting… so I read on, and discovered his innermost thoughts I never knew existed.


My father lost his father when he was in 15. This piece of writing expressed his pensive poignancy and regret when he recalled the moment he saw his father, who loved him the most, being buried as the raindrops fell. The regret? He did not know much of him.

My father seldom talked to my sister and me, and if he did, his tone of voice was mostly stern, angry or just plain awkward. We never enjoyed an open and accepting relationship with him, so of course, I would never imagine him with an emotional, tender side.

However, this piece of my father’s words stirred up empathy and tenderness within me and towards him.

I thought to myself… My father had also never enjoyed a childhood with the protection of his dad. He never even knew much of his dad. How much do I exactly know my father? Would I, be like him, know very little of my own father?

At 25, I don’t want the same regret too… It was, perhaps, divine intervention that I found this piece of paper with my father’s own penned-down thoughts.