On October 27, 2024, my dad, Papa Yong, left us. How do I even begin to describe our relationship? For most of my life, I adored my dad. But in the last few years, something shifted between us—something I never expected.
The last two years were hard. Really hard. His health started to decline, and along with it, his personality seemed to change. He stopped following his diet and quit taking his medications. At home, it felt like he was always on edge, especially with my mom. The smallest things would set him off, and the dad I once knew started to feel like a stranger. It hurt—more than I cared to admit. I found myself avoiding him, avoiding home, and even struggling to meet his eyes.
Mom noticed it too, but there wasn’t much she could do. And honestly, I didn’t know what to do either. I just knew I was angry and confused. Why did I feel this way? Why couldn’t I just push past it? After months of struggling with my questions, I discovered a free counseling service on social media. It was one of my best decisions.
During those six months of therapy, I started unpacking all the resentment I had been carrying. And what I discovered changed everything. My dad and I didn’t stop loving each other—we just had very different ways of showing it. His love language was food. He didn’t say, “How are you doing?” or write long, heartfelt messages. Instead, he’d make sure we were fed. He’d buy us our favorite dishes and always check if we’d eaten. My love language, on the other hand, is words—something he rarely used. I started to use this love language and bring them out for a meal. I guess that is the best thing I ever did for the last 2 years.
As life got busier, my time with Dad became less frequent, but one thing always stayed the same: his love for food. Every Sunday morning for more than 15 years, we had the same breakfast—Sam Kan Cheong pork noodles.
He showed his love in other small but meaningful ways too. Whenever I traveled, my car would always be taken care of. I didn’t even have to ask—he’d make sure it was checked and maintained before I got home. When I think about it now, those acts of service were his way of looking out for me, even when words failed him.
But things weren’t always perfect. During those tough years, it was hard to reconcile the man I used to idolize with the one who frustrated me. There were moments I felt like I didn’t even know him anymore. But through therapy and time, I started to see past those moments. I began to remember the dad who loved me in the only way he knew how—and that love never really went away.
When I think of Dad now, I think of food. I think of Sunday noodles, of family dinners where he made sure no one left the table hungry. Losing him has been heartbreaking, but I’m grateful for the memories and lessons he left behind.
Dad wasn’t perfect—none of us are—but he loved fiercely in his own way. And that’s something I’ll carry with me forever.
One thing I want to thank him for is sending me to Chinese school so I can learn the language.
All About Life and Balance 