I grew up in a middle class family. A family of four, Mummy was the typical tiger mum of the 80s-90s - a cane in every room in the house, her able and trustworthy companion that made her ever so formidable. Papa was the sole breadwinner, slogging out long hours at the office, if only to ensure we were sufficiently provided for.
I always remember looking forward to hearing Papa’s footsteps approaching our gate every evening, though not for entirely filial reasons. Papa’s return meant that I would be freed - albeit temporarily - from the shackles of my assessment books, to have dinner, and to catch the evening drama on Channel 8.
My interactions with Papa was always something I looked forward to, as he was the “Good Cop” to Mummy’s “Bad Cop” persona. He was always saving me from the never-ending cruelty called assessment books!
In the afternoons, he would call back from the office, then have me switch on Teletext, gave me the name of a stock, and I would read off the price, the trading volume, the gain/loss etc. This would be repeated for several stocks. This was my first “foray” into the world of securities. I enjoyed it, as I felt like I was helping Papa with a very important chore.
Never did I realise I was helping my dad dig a hole for himself - the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis struck, and it struck hard. Every afternoon call from Papa became more frantic. Though Papa tried to hide it, the sighs, the long ...