POV: My dad left to work abroad when I was 5, I would only meet him again in person 20 years later

The last time my Papa saw me, I was playing "monkey bars" on the train.

Five-year-old me did not know that I wouldn't see him again for close to 20 years.

While I was happily giggling as my three-year-old sister tried to copy me, Papa was watching us from the platform, burning the scene to memory.

Meanwhile, my Mama was crying as she sat on the train seat, looking out at Papa.

Now 26, I don't recall this happening. What I do remember from growing up was that Papa was away working overseas, while Mama brought my sister and me to Singapore for school.

Phone calls and parcels full of love

I remember Papa would call every day, even though he was far away.

We would have expensive international phone calls that got cheaper with Skype, and then Facebook Messenger and now Telegram calls.

I remember text messages in broken English, questions about lunch and dinner and how our days were.

He usually ate 7/11 bento boxes he found on sale, while we secretly complained about eating Mama's chicken stew for both lunch and dinner.

I remember thinking of Papa as the "good cop" because he didn't nag at us to do our homework or scold us when we did poorly in our tests.

Mama, on the other hand, who often took the broom out for non-cleaning purposes, was the "bad cop".

While our relationship with Mama is still great, it was just that she was the strict tiger mum and Papa was the fun dad.

I remember getting parcels full of snacks and pretty colourful clothes, full of love from Papa.

I remember the silly voices he made while he teased us and the silly faces he pulled.

Most memories I have of Papa from when I was young were full of laughter (sometimes interrupted by the static of the connection cutting off).

Sadness and questions

But it wasn't all happy memories.

I remember feeling Papa's absence whenever my friends had their dads pick them up from school or posted a family picture together.

I remember wondering why it had to be that way, why he couldn't stay here in Singapore with us.

I would learn as I grew.

Finances, passports, visas, education. Things that culminated in our situation.

Recently, I chanced upon a poem I wrote when I was younger that showed this awareness I had as a kid.

Meeting again

It goes without saying that we couldn't afford flight tickets to visit each other when we were younger.

So when I graduated from university and got my first (and so far only) big girl job, I decided to fly out to Japan, where he is currently living.

The thought of meeting him evoked slightly mixed feelings for me.

Of course, I was excited to finally see my one and only father in the flesh after almost 20 years.

But I was afraid that the online relationship we had built wouldn't translate well in real life.

Essentially, I was scared it would be awkward.

Do I run and hug him? Do I give him a peck on the cheek (like I do with my mother)? Do I just smile and wave?

None of these came naturally to me.

It was all good. Until it wasn't.

The big day came, and all my worries vanished when I saw him waiting for me at the arrivals hall.

He was just my dear old funny Papa, grinning from ear to ear as he waved me over.

I might have seen his eyes water with tears as we went in for a hug, but I didn't look too closely as I was too busy wiping my own eyes.

He insisted on pushing my luggage and fussed over getting our Suica (transportation) cards.

The first meal we ate was at a Japanese tendon place.

There, I found out for the first time how embarrassing dads can be when he told the server that I was his daughter, visiting for the first time in 20 years.

Japanese friendliness and smiles ensued, and astonishingly delicious bowls of tendons quickly helped mitigate the embarrassment.

The rest of the trip went just as well: visiting famous Japanese landmarks, stuffing our mouths with sushi, experiencing an earthquake at Tokyo Tower, and getting overstimulated by Donki's theme song.

But one night towards the end of the trip, I found myself arguing with Papa over something I no longer recall.

For this article, I asked my dad if he remembered why and told me what it was about. It's a bit embarrassing, so I'm not going to put it in anyway.

The thing that stayed with me, though, was realising that he was someone who felt things enough to get mad.

I mentioned earlier how I saw my mother as the stricter parent. Over time, these caricatures give way to a more coherent individual.

Mama, now that I'm older, talks to me more about her worries, her wants, and her needs, not just about my studies and what I can and cannot do.

When you stop having to deal with two troublemaking young girls (for the most part), and can talk to fellow adults (for the most part), maybe you start to feel like you can show a bit more of who you are, instead of who you feel you need to be.

Perhaps that's the one thing, even with the daily calls, that I missed out with my father. The chance for him to be himself around me.

Things I didn't know

There was more that I learned about him from that trip. More than I couldn't have known from years of phone calls.

Papa is courteous and considerate; he is conscious of his surroundings and tries never to impose.

He will quickly eat his meals and rush us out of the restaurant when he sees a queue forming, even though I wanted to sit and rest longer.

Papa is a rule-abider; he would never let us cross the road before the pedestrian light turned green.

Papa is fun-loving and full of life, but like many in their fifties, has his own set of health issues.

He has to take his high blood pressure medicine three times a day, before breakfast, lunch and dinner.

His back is not in the best condition from hours of standing at work, but he will carry a backpack full of snacks, water, tissues and the like for us.

Most of all, I learned that Papa sacrificed a lot for us. I mean, this goes without saying, but the trip was a rediscovery of the sacrifices he made.

I let myself forget how hard he has to work to put us through school in Singapore (which was not exactly cheap for us).

And how lonely he might have been, without his family by his side.

I didn't really think about how much pressure he was going through alone overseas, partly because it wasn't explicitly verbalised to me.

Largely though, I admit it was probably because I was too caught up with my own life (and the rat race that is Singapore).

Now that I am able to afford my own travels, I have made it a point to visit him at least once or twice a year.

A few friends have made remarks about the number of times I have gone to Japan in the past three years, but they wouldn't understand, and I don't really care anyway. I'm making up for lost time.

And every time I fly back to Singapore, Papa would send us off to the airport, where he would camp at the observation deck to see our plane flying off.

If I'm lucky enough, I will catch a glimpse of my father standing on the deck.

I'm not too enamoured with monkey bars now, so my hands are free to quickly dab away the tears as I wave him a goodbye that he probably doesn't see.