A fisherman’s son

I can’t say that my father is the greatest father on Earth. I hate him for many reasons and I also love him because he is my father. I know this sounds horrible, but it is how I feel.

But he told me one story that I will never forget. It’s a true story and I have to admit that he is awesome as a person. And I will tell you this story as if it is told by my father.

It was 1940s when the Japanese attacked our village. It was a fisherman village built on top a sea. Our houses are literally on top of the sea water.

When the Japanese came, we escaped the village on boats, small fishing boats that the villagers used to catch fish. Not every family has a boat, so we cramped many people into one small boat. I was only 3 years old and we floated on the open ocean for days. My mom got sick and died few days later on the boat. Many people died on the boats. We were still on the open sea and they have to throw the bodies to the sea. That was the last time I saw my mother.

Few days later, we landed somewhere in Malaysia. We found our refuge there for a while until the war was over . And then we were forced to leave. So we drifted again back to our fishing village. I was very young and we lost everything. My father and I lived on a boat for his entire life time. We didn’t have money for anything, so I didn’t go to school at all.

So how do I learn to read, you ask ? I learn from toilets, walls, from a beggar, from anyone who is willing to teach me something. I learned a word at a time. I sometimes sneaked into a school and listen to the teacher from outside of the classroom. I learn from anything. They are all my teachers.

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