farewell, kong kong joseph

5 June 1926 - 22 February 2008. You lived an inspiring life.

Eulogy, delivered at the funeral on 25 February, 2008.

As I was writing this eulogy last night it occurred to me that about twenty-five years ago, my grandfather received one of the best birthday presents a person could have - he actually became a grandfather on his birthday. He and I shared the same birthday - June the fifth.

On behalf of my grandmother Nellie, my aunt Angela, my parents Michael and Im Choo and my younger brothers, Julius and Justin, I'd like to thank all of you, family and friends, for being here to join us in celebrating the life and times of an extraordinary man, my grandfather, Joseph.

There are many anecdotes and accounts that fill the pages of the story of a life as rich and enriching as my grandfather. It is both rich and enriching because in enriching the lives of those around him, he found a wealth of purpose and joy in his own as well.

My grandfather may have led an upright life but he did not live the easiest of lives. He was tried and tested by adversity. And in a very real way, his character was also shaped precisely by the adversity of his circumstances. Like precious metal that is tried by the fire of the crucible, my grandfather's moral mettle (his values and principles) was forged in the heat of the crucible of his circumstances. And like precious metal that has been purified, he enriched the lives of all around him.

My grandfather grew up, and raised his own family in, what by today's standards would be considered a large family. He, together with his own family members, parents, siblings and extended family comprised a household of sixteen - all living under a single roof. How that house, which was actually a modest three bedroomed flat at Tiong Bahru, actually managed to hold sixteen people all at once is something lost on my generation. My grandfather, as the eldest son, was a central figure in his household.

As a young adult, he worked hard to live up to his responsibilities to his family, never seeking praise or reward, believing in honest work in exchange for an honest dollar. And slog he did. How hard he actually worked can best be appreciated by the fact that at one point he had to support a total of ten people relying on his income from the three simultaneous jobs that he held in order to make ends meet.

He took care of his parents, put his younger siblings through school and raised his own family all by himself. The stooped shoulders of my grandfather's later years perhaps bore testament to the weight of the responsibilities he bore.

But his stoop shoulders belied the moral backbone he possessed as well. He conducted his affairs, both private and professional, strictly according to the principles of integrity and honesty. He was a man of fantastically good humour and got along well with everyone. But when it came to a question of morals or ethics, he was unwavering. In fact, on one occasion, while he was working as an officer at a shipping company, a supplier had tried to bribe him to the tune of ten thousand dollars in order to secure a deal. Bear in mind that this was ten thousand dollars in 1980's value. He refused to succumb and politely but firmly suggested to them that they give the money to his company instead.

The only time he stole something, was during the Japanese Occupation, when as a cook for the Japanese army, he regularly took home rations from the kitchen in order to feed his family.

My grandfather's priority was to take care of his family, and this he did not only at the expense of his own safety - he could have been executed if the Japanese soldiers had found out - but also at the expense of his dreams. My grandfather was one of the most intelligent and mentally agile people I knew. His prowess in mathematics and proficiency in English befitted the standard expected from a student of Raffles Institution, which he was, up to Secondary level. While the Japanese Occupation cut short his studies, he did not pursue it either after the war because he had to work to support his family. Not being able to continue with his education was perhaps one of his regrets in life. But even without a formal higher education, all those who knew him well will attest to his erudition. I have no doubt, that with his intellect, he would have been outstanding academically.

There is no shame in talking about regrets, even as we gather for the purpose of celebrating a person's life. For without at least some degree of regret, there can be no real sense of hope. It is only when we look to the past that we see the possibilities of our future, and in my grandfather's case, the futures of the people he loved and set aside his own desires in order to help them realize theirs. When sacrifice is made out of love, the light of hope eventually overtakes the shadow of regret.

So we cannot truly value the depth of my grandfather's hopes and dreams without also being aware of his fears and regrets. In fact, in the final months of his life, his greatest fear was not the fear of death itself, for he was prepared and drew a certain peace of mind from the conviction that he had lived a full and good life. His fear was that his family would drift apart after his passing. He appeared more at ease when all of us gathered around him to promise that we would never allow that to happen. The nature of a man's fears is a reflection of his character. Confronted with the prospects of his own mortality, he didn't fear for himself, but for his family. There is perhaps something heroic in that.

My grandfather was also a man of faith. He came to a peace of mind towards the end precisely because he believed in the reward he would go to, having led a full and good life. One specific instance of his trust in “god” stands out. According to my dad, in the last few months, every time he was sent to the hospital he always felt compelled to share with his doctors and nurses how he was healed of a particular health condition in his youth. As a young man of thirty four, he had developed a kidney condition. Doctors told him it required surgery and a transplant. But girded by their deep faith, my grandmother went to the Novena Church and asked for Mary’s intercession. And a while later when my grandfather went back to the doctor for a check up, they were amazed that his condition was completely cured without any sign of disease whatsoever. He never stopped being grateful to god for what he believed to be a miracle. And he continued to give thanks up to his last days.

My grandfather may have reached the end of his life's journey, but the final chapter of his life story has not yet been completed. From his days as a teenager up till his very last breath, his life had never been about himself; it had always been about his family. At the bottom of each page of his story, we will not find numbers, for he never kept score of how much he gave. In the place of numbers, we instead find the words "love" and "sacrifice."

It is a story that will live on after him. Because he gave so much and so freely of himself for our sake, his story really belongs to us. And we, together, constitute the living story of my grandfather's life. Each of us holds in our hearts and minds, a different chapter of that story. These are chapters filled with the accounts of how he had touched each of our lives. Each of us, directly or indirectly, is a beneficiary of his extraordinary generosity. By coming together today to honour what this man meant and continues to mean to each of us, we represent a complete volume of his life story. But the final chapter of that story remains unfinished - for by living our lives according to the values of love and sacrifice that he lived with, and we benefited from, we represent the ongoing story of the life and times of Joseph Chua.

predictum

Predictability in a relationship is like oxygen to our lungs. In the appropriate measure, it sustains; too much, and it kills.

last night

The look on your face was priceless.

getting head

Don't know what manner of itch tickled my brain last night, but I decided on a whim, to shave my head completely bald. The feeling of running my hand over my bare scalp is amazing; it's like an amalgam of familiar sensations that result in an entirely novel one. It's like touching your knee, butt and sweaty chest at the same time! (You're most welcome for the mental image I've just painted for you.) But it's very cool.

I took the photo this morning after I was roused by A's SMS. Attached the photo to my reply and was promptly rewarded with A's approval ("You're so cute."), followed by commiseration with my "poor follicles". A's adorable. But I like the look. And I think I have an extraordinarily round head for a chink.



Lucy looks like she's trying to shove her maraca up my nose.