A tidbit I sometimes tell when doing the usual “share a fun fact about yourself” icebreaker: I have had the same barber cut my hair since I was a toddler.

I don’t know his full name, but my father calls him Ah Tan, and he’s been my barber my entire life.

And so when I went for the usual trim with my father earlier today, it was a shock to find his tools cleared from his table.

“Ah Tan 走了”, we were informed by his colleague.

It happened quickly, he said. Ah Tan came to work on Monday that week, felt sick, and passed away on Tuesday in the hospital.

Ah Tan’s family did not organize a wake. And perhaps in lieu of that, while we waited for our turn at a haircut by now unfamiliar hands, my father and the other barber recounted what they knew of him.

My father and Ah Tan used to work at the same company in Singapore, Thomson, in the 80s.

Ah Tan had left the company, convinced by a colleague to work together on another venture. The venture didn’t pan out, and Ah Tan eventually started working on a ship. He travelled around the world for some time, before returning to Singapore and becoming a barber.

He leaves behind a wife and two children. His wife was diagnosed with mental health issues several years ago, and treatment had taken a toll on the family’s mental and financial wellbeing. His children are both working adults but unmarried.

A common refrain in the conversation: Ah Tan’s life was hard. His wife’s condition had put him under tremendous pressure in all sorts of ways. His relationship with his children was strained to say the least. And he was always working hard, perhaps too hard, and never got to relax.

Maybe it was simple idle chatter while we waited for our haircut. But I can’t help but feel that it was also a eulogy of sorts.

In the barber shop where Ah Tan spent the majority of his life, seated just centimeters away from where he would usually stand for hours cutting hair, we tell his story.

We tell the stories of people who pass, to remember their lives and make sure they are not forgotten, and to remind the world that they have made a difference.

The stories are by no means flattering. No false pretences, no empty compliments. Because there is no need for all of that. We see him for who he is and still we tell his story.

谢谢 uncle, for cutting my hair the past 30 years.

You would always ask about my work, or ask me about how to use a particular feature in your phone, or ask about a new tech trend you heard in the news.

You were the most hardworking out of all the barbers in the shop. We all knew that. You were also the most softspoken, in a barbershop where the other barbers would shout at each other while cutting hair, in conversations littered with vulgarities.

You were always incredibly attentive in the 10 minutes or so when I sat in your chair. The barbershop always had a funny smell after it relocated several years ago right next to a durian stall. But I really enjoyed my haircut sessions. It’s so relaxing that I would often fall asleep despite your scissors and cut throat razor waving about my face.

In the recent months, I noticed your hand started to tremble sometimes. And your head increasingly leaned at an angle because of a pain in your neck. Despite all that, you continued to come to work, standing for hours cutting hair.

You did look a lot more tired in the past few months.

I hope you get to rest now.