“You better study hard. Wait you end up like Papa.”
Being born to hawkers for parents, I was relieved from the pressure one may have felt from needing to live up to one’s family legacy. Standards were pretty low: don’t get knocked up, don’t get locked up, and don’t be me.
Before hipsters and their Tart Optical Arnel 55 glasses came along and made Hawker a job title worth printing on 300gsm organic paper, the profession itself was a means to an end for the Uneducated. My parents are the Uneducated.
12 hours a day. 6 days a week. 30 years and counting. Not a sexy job, sweetheart.
As a child with a serious disinterest in all things academic, it was little wonder why my parents were so paranoid. Every time I brought my examination results home, dad would sing the same song.
“You better study hard. Wait you end up like Papa.”
That song was played on repeat for as long as I could remember. At times, mum would join dad for a freaking duet.
I was 9 years of age when dad dragged me to his duck rice stall to help during the weekends. He wanted me to witness firsthand the importance of an education, and once again, be reminded why he wasn’t someone I should strive to be. To be honest, at that age, I thought owning my own duck rice stall wasn’t too…
