Don't Waste Your Life

I think I walked in his shoes today. Was Auckland the same 15 years ago? Maybe not.

But as I walked the places where he once walked, it was almost as if I could feel what he walked through. I could feel the loneliness , the lostness, but above all the sacrifice.

At least, 1/3 of Auckland's population now is Asian. It's easy to get asian supplies, and everywhere you turn you see an Asian face. I look at the prices of food: $5 for a bowl of soup? He would never have been able to afford that.

I hear the voices of babies crying on the streets and mothers saying 'This way, dear' to their tumbling toddler. Words that must have made his heart drop tears.

I walked into the hall of residence, and peered into the communal eating hall, where the famed 'elephant fish' was cooked, and its nauseating smell filling the air.

I sense the crowds walking past him. He was just another face in the crowd, in this great city called Auckland. Hundreds of people pass him by everyday, yet he was all alone. How painful it must be to leave wife and children 10000km away back home.

I could feel the pain he must have felt each night when he took the elevator back up to his hostel room to retire for the night. Each night, it was a single bed that he slept in.

As I'm writing this, there is a sparrow stopping by the table at the cafe that I'm at. It's taken care of by God above. Surely, He took care of him too. This was the place where he first worshipped the Lord. St Paul's Cathedral. Just 2 minutes outside the Uni of Auckland. 3 mins from O'Rorke Hall. Without the work of this church, even me, I wouldn't be who I am today.

I went to the General Library, where he must have spent countless hours. I recount the stories of reading 15 years of NZ newspapers in 24hours to formulate a thesis topic. To fulfill the billing 'the crazy guy who wants to do his 2 year Master's program in 1 year', well you gotta work, erm, like crazy. All just to get home quicker. To be away less. Work like crazy.

I remember those jelly beans left on the doorstep of our Serangoon Ave 4 flat by the postman. To my greatest delight. It was my 7th birthday. I remember the photo of me hugging Felix the Cat (my fave stuffed toy in those days). I remember the rugby-ball-turned-kiwibird-stuffed-toy. I remember crying uncontrollably when he went back for his 2nd semester of study. I remember her bringing us to AMK NTUC to buy groceries. 2 kids in tow, plus bags of food. Taking a taxi she could ill-afford. I remember sleeping in their bedroom, in their bed. I remember one night I kept expecting she'd come join me on the bed so she could cuddle me, but the loneliness caused her to stay up till 6am doing housework. I remember us reciting the landline telephone number to the house in Auckland: 'ling-ling-jiu ....' (009-xxxxx). I remember he used to call on Sunday nights and hang up after 2 rings. That was the signal that it was him calling, and we were supposed to call him back cos it was cheaper that way. I remember the snail mail letters we would all open excitedly, and I would collect the stamps. I remember I would always get a chance to add in some lines at the end of the letters she replied. With the primary 1 english and chinese i knew.

I remember. Today, I remember, most of all, the sacrifice. For us.

Jesus was right when He taught about the heart of a father. 'Or what man is there among you, who if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent?' (Matt 7:9-10) Fathers give their very best to their child, if only for love.

I love you, dad. Thanks for giving us your very best.