At 12 noon, 1 Feb 2011, papa breathed his last. He could not say goodbye, he went silently like how he always comes and goes. Papa was never a loud man, he disliked loudness and valued peace very much.

I was only three when papa retired from the police force. I guess I was the privileged one to have him present in my growing years. He bathed me, fed me and taught me what he could. I remembered how upset I was when he told me that God was my Father while he was just a temporary replacement of Him on earth. I remember asking him why then is my mom my one and only mother and not just a temporary one like him. He had no explanation and I got angry. Papa only hit me once throughout this 30 years of my life and my sisters told me that I refused to speak to him for a week after that hit. For years, I was papa's little hairdresser. I combed his hair twice a day once in the morning after his bath and the second one after his afternoon nap in the afternoon. I would sprinkle Vitalis on his head and comb his hair over and over again until I was satisfied with what I saw in the mirror. Sometimes he accepted my masterpiece while on other times, he combed his hair again after I left the room.

Papa had a few expensive hobbies. One of it was collecting popular songs. He loved music and spent his pocket money making hundreds and hundreds of copies of popular songs, hymns, instrumental music, workshops, prayers.....whatever he could get hold of and interest him. He did not allow us to touch or use his cassette player without his supervision because it was his 'little baby' and was expensive. He spent hours every day maintaining his player. Thanks to this hobby, we grew up listening to all types of songs. I enjoy listening to "Keroncong", oldies, 'Theresa Teng', Jim Reeves, Slim Whitman, Nana Mouskouri because of papa's influence.

Although I became less attached to papa as I grew older, papa still had influence in my school life. He used to carry me on his bike to school, tuition, church and so on. Although I often took the public bus, papa was my most reliable transporter. Rain or shine, he was there. He was rarely late neither did he ever say no to my requests for a lift. To many of my school friends, papa was a handsome dad. He often took off his helmet (showing off his partially bald head) and sat relaxingly on the bike as he waited for me. Our teachers respected papa too. He was once the chairman of the PIBG and he was committed to his position.

Peter Vaz was a man whom everyone respected. He was a man who did not interest gossip makers. People respected him for his simplicity and kindness. Financially, he was not rich. He never even owned a car or traveled out of Peninsular Malaysia. He never even owned a passport but people remember him fondly. Even though he was bed-ridden, he still had people traveling the distance to visit him, to call and ask about him, who sent greeting cards. With his pension of RM 700, he raised four daughters, sent three to University, one to the nursing school. With that little salary, he also gave us shelter and never deprived us of the necessities in life.

Papa is not a millionaire but he will be remembered dearly by everyone. I should not be sad. He has lived a good life. He is in a better place right now.

Rest in Peace Papa. Thank you for raising me,and for sharing what you could share.


You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.