SINGAPORE - My father died when I was six years old.
I vividly remember attending his funeral and wondering what would change in our family, with his passing. Three weeks before his death, he took me aside, looked desperately into my eyes and told me that I was now the man of the house, and would have to look after my mother and then four-year-old sister. I had no idea what he was asking for. But I nodded my head anyway. That was quite possibly my first act of adulting.