My hero: my story began with yours

"Ma, why do you need to go for Thaipusam every year? My little girl, Lil whose company I was so grateful for, asked me. Her curiosity was a door opener for me to talk about my dad, a trigger in the past, and now a central part of my identity.

In my teens, I grew up resenting my dad for his ways: alcohol consumption, wallowing himself in self-pity, and his aggression. I can't remember at which point I transitioned from being his favorite girl to his strongest opponent, taking away his power. If you sense a deep sense of ego, you are absolutely right. I did blindly believe in a naive way that I had some power over him.

Little did I know, that, it brought us apart as the critical side of me slowly took over the compassionate, endearing child of his who would just listen to the stories that I enjoyed in his sober moments. As I grew up and left home, we grew apart and hardly met or spoke.

Thaipusam was special . I yearned to go for Thaipusam in Ipoh every year, where I would meet my village people, extended family members, not forgetting to be dressed for a festival. Despite this excitement, both anxiety and anticipation would come to an end when my dad walks past and we would lock eyes. As I walk nearer to him, I would be put off with the smell of alcohol. He would ask me to accompany him into the temple and as we got closer into the temple accompanied by the beautiful sound of 'urumi' and the sound of 'vel vel ', he would hold my hand so tightly. I wished that moment lasted forever. He would hesitate to enter the temple where he had arrived majestically with his kavadi, for years. Now, he was afraid to get into a trance. I never understood it.

My dad was an amazing soul when he wasn't consumed by alcohol. He embraced so many people and including my uncle who was disabled, looking after him like a father. As a staunch Hindu, he would take my Christian uncle to healing sessions in churches

When I was in primary school, I remember telling my dad that I was going to carry the kavadi like him, in the hope that he will give up drinking. He smiled and then in a very stern voice, he said "Don't you ever dare do it ". I didn't get it. When dad was preparing for Thaipusam, he dedicated himself to Lord Muruga. I watched how sacredly, he would give up his cigarettes and alcohol as he goes into his strict fast for one month.

His face will beam in the light of peace, a real "Azhagan' as I remembered him. These were my precious moments where my optimism was at its best. I would pray and hope that this fast form of alcohol would last forever.

My dad sat me down to explain to me the difficulty of the fast he experienced and the experience of trance itself. I asked why then, did he bother with it. His mother had made a vow when he got into trouble while being involved in gangsterism and offered the gift of kavadi to Lord Muruga if he would return home safely. And he did.

I sat at the corner of the 'mamak' shop we used to eat with my daughter. Its been years since my dad passed on. She saw my tears rolled, she sat on my lap and said ' You miss him." I nodded. It felt complete to share this moment with my daughter.

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have turned 81.

My need for a career was driven by financial independence and the need to give my mum a better life. It has been only in recent years, specifically after reading Gabor Mate's, The Realms of Hungry Ghosts when I truly reconciled with my dad, and our story now has a soul.

I realized my passion for EQ and continued search in healing my own pains come from the generational pain of the underprivileged community. The underdogs like my dad who died trapped with pain in his mind and had no skills to set themselves free or break away from the curse of poverty and helplessness. Oh no, this is not to release my dad from his responsibility but what needs to happen to truly enable the underprivileged communities to learn how to fish and find their grounding with a positive identity.

While I don't drink yet, I look forward to 'cheering with my first drink with dad' when we finally meet, again. My mom made sure I broke free by ensuring education in the best way she knows. It's my turn now. And if we collaborated, we will get there faster. But first, we can stop judging and be curious. And if we can, create a world that serves justice to break the cycle.

Happy birthday, Pa.