Friday, October 31, 2008
Stretched
Ever had days when everything seems to cave in on you? And then you blow up and regret blowing up but you know that you cant take things back because they are out there and no amount of mopping up can restore that spilt milk... well I have just had one of those days....
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Durians.. the King of Fruits
Durians is the king of fruits . It's a spiky green fruit with pod compartments which house two to three fleshy pungent fruit that smell like goat's cheese gone bad.. but to the connoisseur it's a wiff of heaven or hell to those who have not mastered the art of the Durian.
In my younger days my durian crazed parents would drive all the way from Singapore to Klang and along the way we would stop for durian breakfast, durian lunch and eventually at my grandmother's home for durian dinner. By the age of 8 I'd had a lifetime's worth of durians. Now , I abstain from the fruit .. just because I can.. for I have passed the age where I have to eat what's put in front of me.
My husband is a durian fanatic. He prides himself on being able to pick the best fruit at the lowest price possible. During the durian season he is often found picking fruits for various aunties and church members. Hahaha, our worship leader Yu Puay often says " If I have to put on that many calories it's got to be worth it.. so I'll eat what Jeff picks !"
My English Cocker Spaniel loves helping Jeff to pick the durians..she eats them and spits out the seed too. A whole breed of her own.. Picking durians is an art form in itself. Some sniff it, some shake it.. others gently strum it's thorny hide listening for ???? ..some shake it then put it to their ears as if they were tuning an instrument.. some place in on flat ground just to see if they fruit will balance itself and yet others can swear by the shape of the thorns if the fruit of the durian is yellow, light yellow or orangy red.
Durian pickers are in a class of their own often debating the merits of their own methods and swearing that theirs is the best. My husband however swears that he has paid high " tuition fees" to the local vendors to arrive upon his method of picking a good durian.
Durian lovers dont like to eat durian alone. HAahaha unlike an apple or rambutans the eating of a durian is a communal thing. It's a festive occassion , an occassion to gather or visit friends to show off one's durian picking skills or to just brag about the last best tasting fruit they ever had in their lives !! Last Tuesday night an enthusiastic crowd of prayer warriors ended their prayerful gathering with a feast of 60 durians at Ah Lek's home !! It was durian galore. Bitter ones, sweet ones, creamy and dry. Durians that melted in mouths and those whose flesh was mushy. It was overkill. But never the less 54-55 fruits were consumed that night...leaving a mountian of empty skin shells for the garbage collector the next morning
An expert durian King can open a fruit with anything, car keys included . Not all Desperados are cowboys . some simple want their durians NOW !!!!!Durians can illicit the most extreme of emotions! When I was pregnant I refused to allow Jeff to eat durians anywhere near me. Then in my 9th month during one durian season he and a few friends brought a few fruits home and ate them outside the house. But somehow the smell was so strong it permeated the bedroom walls and as I lumbered towards them my baby inside me began to kick. At first the kicks were normal gentle kicks.. but as i got closer and closer to the smell the kicks became alarmingly furious! my friend Jo said " why dont you eat a fruit?Maybe the baby wants some" No way.. I was not going to eat anything in this state. But the kicking did'nt stop and so just for fun I had a seed..as soon as the pulpy flesh touched my tongue the baby's kicks stopped. Coincidence I thought. I got up intending to brush my teeth when suddenly the baby began kicking again!! So I took another seed. After 4 seeds that night my baby decided she'd had enough and allowed me to stop ! Which accounts for her rather large entrance into the world!
Warning to pregnant mothers who eat durian. Your baby will never forgive you if they cannot lose all that durian weight!
Or your child may grow up slightly as crazed as their durian eating parents.
Good durian eating habits start young
Proverbs 22:6Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it
And so is birthed a new generation of durian eating Kings.........
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Nahhhhh ! The I wannnnn! I wannn! Generation
I was at home when a shriek pierced the air. Rudely and loud it crashed my nap time with its wailing. Doors banged and still more screams. I rushed down the stairs and opposite the road I saw another neighbour peering out of her window. " Hah mi su ? ( what's up ) ha mang kow kau an neh? ( Who is crying until like that )?" . It was coming from my adjoining neighbour's house. The bliss of semi-detached urban living.. you get to hear every minuste detail of your fellow neighbour's life.. and I mean everything!! So when the volume is tuned up as it is now.. you hear !
The sounds began to receed to the back of the house and so I went to my kitchen to see if I should be calling the local police soon. Bang Bang Bang " I no wannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn !!!!!! "
sreamed the owner of a pair of lusty lungs.. " Darling darling.. dont cry.. dont cry.. " I heard my neighbour say.. then a deep voice ," ah yah son, you want some ribena ? Come Daddy make ribena for you." Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! Bang Bang Bang something flew across the room.. " I no WANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!! "
My curiosity was peeked . The parents were'nt scolding the child and they sounded as if they had no conflict.. what on earth was causing the kid to wail in this manner? !
Bang! Bang! Doors slam! Glass shatters.. Piang! By now even my kids are standing with me in the kitchen wondering what all the commotion is about. " I don wannnnnnnnnn!!!! " shrieks shatter our lazy afternoon and by now I am prepared to go ask my neighbour what it is the kid dosent want. But my daughter wisely puts a restraining hand on my arm and says " Mummy , dont kapoh ( be a busy body ) ". " Maybe they need help " I say. " It's just Andrew.. he's always like this. Just wait." says my daughter who has obviously heard all this before.
" Son son darling dont behave like this. Daddy got to finish some work first then Daddy take you" drawls the unflustered Dad from next door. " I WAN NOWWWWWWWWWWW. YAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.. I WAN GO TO THE PARK NOOWWWWWWWW. DADDY YOU TAKE ME NOWWWWWWWWWWWWW AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"" SCREAM SCREAM
bang bang somemore!!
My daughter rolls her eyes " See I told you.. it's nothing. He always like that. He just wants what he wants.. ah go back to sleep lah he will stop now because the Daddy will take him in a little while." and with that she walks off to her room
What? all this fuss to go to a park? It's 3pm on a Sunday afternoon !! And in a little while true enough. The whole family emerges at the gate with their sniffling 4 year old and head for the park.. silence decends and the estate is at peace again. I look up and my other neighbour bangs shut her windows in disgust. Opposite a group of kids had gathered but perhaps when they discover the action has died down , they break up and drift off towards the park hoping to catch the continuation or a fresh saga. A few doors down an old uncle comes to the gate.. " Ah yoh, if that fella my kid ah. sure lah I whallop man.. my whole Sunday afternoon gone ! I thought someone murder the fella ! chech! "
I renter my house and I cant help but think.. I could make millions if I could just capture that moment on Desperate Housewives. A four year old controls his parents with wails , shouts and screams. What will he do when he's 14? Now that to me is something to be Desperate about!
The sounds began to receed to the back of the house and so I went to my kitchen to see if I should be calling the local police soon. Bang Bang Bang " I no wannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn !!!!!! "
sreamed the owner of a pair of lusty lungs.. " Darling darling.. dont cry.. dont cry.. " I heard my neighbour say.. then a deep voice ," ah yah son, you want some ribena ? Come Daddy make ribena for you." Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! Bang Bang Bang something flew across the room.. " I no WANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!! "
My curiosity was peeked . The parents were'nt scolding the child and they sounded as if they had no conflict.. what on earth was causing the kid to wail in this manner? !
Bang! Bang! Doors slam! Glass shatters.. Piang! By now even my kids are standing with me in the kitchen wondering what all the commotion is about. " I don wannnnnnnnnn!!!! " shrieks shatter our lazy afternoon and by now I am prepared to go ask my neighbour what it is the kid dosent want. But my daughter wisely puts a restraining hand on my arm and says " Mummy , dont kapoh ( be a busy body ) ". " Maybe they need help " I say. " It's just Andrew.. he's always like this. Just wait." says my daughter who has obviously heard all this before.
" Son son darling dont behave like this. Daddy got to finish some work first then Daddy take you" drawls the unflustered Dad from next door. " I WAN NOWWWWWWWWWWW. YAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.. I WAN GO TO THE PARK NOOWWWWWWWW. DADDY YOU TAKE ME NOWWWWWWWWWWWWW AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"" SCREAM SCREAM
bang bang somemore!!
My daughter rolls her eyes " See I told you.. it's nothing. He always like that. He just wants what he wants.. ah go back to sleep lah he will stop now because the Daddy will take him in a little while." and with that she walks off to her room
What? all this fuss to go to a park? It's 3pm on a Sunday afternoon !! And in a little while true enough. The whole family emerges at the gate with their sniffling 4 year old and head for the park.. silence decends and the estate is at peace again. I look up and my other neighbour bangs shut her windows in disgust. Opposite a group of kids had gathered but perhaps when they discover the action has died down , they break up and drift off towards the park hoping to catch the continuation or a fresh saga. A few doors down an old uncle comes to the gate.. " Ah yoh, if that fella my kid ah. sure lah I whallop man.. my whole Sunday afternoon gone ! I thought someone murder the fella ! chech! "
I renter my house and I cant help but think.. I could make millions if I could just capture that moment on Desperate Housewives. A four year old controls his parents with wails , shouts and screams. What will he do when he's 14? Now that to me is something to be Desperate about!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Getting from here.. to .. there
Did I ever tell you I was in a Catholic school from Kindergarten to University? My parents were born in the time when missionaries flourished and Mission schools offered the best education in the land. My father went to ACS in Klang and my mother to another Methodist/ Catholic mission school. Those days the teachers were nuns and full time missionaries . Fathers, Catholic priests ruled the school yard with their rotans and footballs. They were dedicated to raising the heathen not just into higher spiritual states of awareness but convinced that they had sacrificed family , home and comfort for the betterment of young Malaysian lives through education.
Indeed many ambitious , hardworking young people were educated in these old Mission schools and later sent off to the homelands of these Nuns and Fathers to further their education and return as lawyers, doctors, architects and engineers.. the future leaders and founders of Modern Malaysia and Singapore.
My mother’s education was random and rudely interrupted by the advent of the Japanese war. But another form of education took place. She learnt in the days of the Japanese that to be silent was better than to be heard. She learnt that a mouthful of tapioca was better than nothing at all. That if you really needed to eat salt, parts of the earth were salty. Her parents taught her to be still and silent even when her deepest fears crept up on her as Japanese soldiers ransacked their home looking for young girls as she crouched under the old floorboards of their home. She learnt that the fastest way to make friends was to speak the Japanese language and forget the English ways and manners of the Nuns. She learnt to wear her brother’s trousers and not yearn for the pretty skirts of the girls her age for her own safety. And when the war was over.. she was to return to school at the age of 13 to unlearn all that she had learnt.
Her eldest sister , my Aunty M , was a teaching assistant with the Mission school at the time. She insisted that my mum go to school and sit for her Primary School Leaving Exams… but there was a hitch.. mum had left school at the age of 9 or 10.. she had to study everything from Pri 1- 6 in a year. I think given today’s system of education my mum would probably have been sent to a Vocational School ! But with Aunty M’s help and her own determination, my mum not only passed her exams .. she did so with Flying Colours ! In the next years or so, she went on to complete her Senior Cambridge and then applied to be a teacher at the Singapore Teacher’s Training College.. hence her move to Singapore.
It’s quite amazing actually, the tenacity and drive of the older generation. Driven by the sole purpose of looking for a better life and brighter future my mother landed on the shores of Singapore then just another state in the Federation of Malaya. Armed with nothing more that a Senior Cambridge Certificate my mother was to become the first principal of the first Intergrated Malay school in Singapore. Quite a feat for a Chinese kampong girl whose education started at the age of 13.. so my children, with all your tuition , handphones and laptops.. how will you fare? Has the drive and tenacity of past generations been etched into your DNA? Or is life so much easier that challenges are side stepped rather than met? My husband says youth today have grown soft with comfort and lack of moral, spiritual and physical challenges.. I hope not
I believe each generation will have its challenges.. if then, my mother over came the Japanese war, struggled with poverty and education .. tomorrow our children face the prospects of polluted waters, tainted foodstuff, genetically modified foods, an attitude of apathy, morally challenged politicians, a planet suffering from drought and lower food production, over population ,too many graduates applying for the same jobs, terrorists , wars and rumours of wars... the list goes on.
Each generation in not without her plagues and challenges. But it's oftentimes how we overcome that will shape and determine our future. Overcoming takes guts, determination to succeed and hard work. It requiers having the faith to believe that God has a plan for our lives.... something for the instant Maggi noodle generation to think about ...
Indeed many ambitious , hardworking young people were educated in these old Mission schools and later sent off to the homelands of these Nuns and Fathers to further their education and return as lawyers, doctors, architects and engineers.. the future leaders and founders of Modern Malaysia and Singapore.
My mother’s education was random and rudely interrupted by the advent of the Japanese war. But another form of education took place. She learnt in the days of the Japanese that to be silent was better than to be heard. She learnt that a mouthful of tapioca was better than nothing at all. That if you really needed to eat salt, parts of the earth were salty. Her parents taught her to be still and silent even when her deepest fears crept up on her as Japanese soldiers ransacked their home looking for young girls as she crouched under the old floorboards of their home. She learnt that the fastest way to make friends was to speak the Japanese language and forget the English ways and manners of the Nuns. She learnt to wear her brother’s trousers and not yearn for the pretty skirts of the girls her age for her own safety. And when the war was over.. she was to return to school at the age of 13 to unlearn all that she had learnt.
Her eldest sister , my Aunty M , was a teaching assistant with the Mission school at the time. She insisted that my mum go to school and sit for her Primary School Leaving Exams… but there was a hitch.. mum had left school at the age of 9 or 10.. she had to study everything from Pri 1- 6 in a year. I think given today’s system of education my mum would probably have been sent to a Vocational School ! But with Aunty M’s help and her own determination, my mum not only passed her exams .. she did so with Flying Colours ! In the next years or so, she went on to complete her Senior Cambridge and then applied to be a teacher at the Singapore Teacher’s Training College.. hence her move to Singapore.
It’s quite amazing actually, the tenacity and drive of the older generation. Driven by the sole purpose of looking for a better life and brighter future my mother landed on the shores of Singapore then just another state in the Federation of Malaya. Armed with nothing more that a Senior Cambridge Certificate my mother was to become the first principal of the first Intergrated Malay school in Singapore. Quite a feat for a Chinese kampong girl whose education started at the age of 13.. so my children, with all your tuition , handphones and laptops.. how will you fare? Has the drive and tenacity of past generations been etched into your DNA? Or is life so much easier that challenges are side stepped rather than met? My husband says youth today have grown soft with comfort and lack of moral, spiritual and physical challenges.. I hope not
I believe each generation will have its challenges.. if then, my mother over came the Japanese war, struggled with poverty and education .. tomorrow our children face the prospects of polluted waters, tainted foodstuff, genetically modified foods, an attitude of apathy, morally challenged politicians, a planet suffering from drought and lower food production, over population ,too many graduates applying for the same jobs, terrorists , wars and rumours of wars... the list goes on.
Each generation in not without her plagues and challenges. But it's oftentimes how we overcome that will shape and determine our future. Overcoming takes guts, determination to succeed and hard work. It requiers having the faith to believe that God has a plan for our lives.... something for the instant Maggi noodle generation to think about ...
For Realllllllll !!!! Cross my heart !!
My daughter has been reading my blog and she asks how come my ghost stories sound like those in Singapore Ghost Stories… I dunno, I never read them the Chinaman and Cleaver encounter is true.. But as I was driving this evening I remembered something else..
My mum and dad had had a huge fight.. magnified by the fact that I was perhaps only 5 or 6 at the time. It was a “ she said he said” thing which I now find perfectly normal to do with my husband . But like I said, parental fights to a 6 year older is like.. the sky falling down on chicken little.
I remember my mother crying and crawling into my bed. She told me that tomorrow we would pack our bags and go up to Klang to visit with her mother for a while. She said we would be going a long time and so I had to sleep well tonight and she would pack all my favourite things tomorrow. I asked her if we were going to drive Papa’s car up to Klang again and that’s when she said “ Your Papa is not coming. We are leaving him behind. I don’t know when we will see him again.”
Heart stopped. Jaw dropped. What’s this? We are leaving Papa at home alone? For how long? “ Sleep girl. Sleep .. tomorrow we take the train.” Sniffed my distraught mother.
That night it felt like the sky did fall down on chicken little. I had no idea what was going on, but even at 6 I knew this was no ordinary fight. As I tried to sleep I turned to face the table light next to my bed and that’s when I saw Him. I recognised Him instantly.. He was the Jesus in my Sunday school class.. the Jesus in my story books.. He looked like Jesus right down to the flowing white gown.
I stared at Him and blinked. I could’nt believe Jesus was sitting on my table next to my night light. I struggled to call my mum who was sniffling but apparently had fallen asleep.. it was just Him and me. I wanted to climb out of bed.. touch Him to see if He was real. He looked at me with kind eyes and said “ I shall never leave you nor forsake you..” then just like that He kinda vanished.
He will never leave me nor forsake me..I had no idea it was a verse from the bible at the time. It was many years later that I was to encounter Him again.. But since Jesus is Jesus.. I don’t count Him as a ghost.. so Yeah Michelle, the Chinaman and his cleaver was my first encounter with a ghost.. even if he was conjured by a frantic house help probably looking for a way to gain some extra vacation time from her Tow Kay Neo.
Hindsight and experience is a wonderful thing. In my more mature state I too have had maids who have pleaded to go home because some dead relative had come a calling in their sleep !
My mum and dad had had a huge fight.. magnified by the fact that I was perhaps only 5 or 6 at the time. It was a “ she said he said” thing which I now find perfectly normal to do with my husband . But like I said, parental fights to a 6 year older is like.. the sky falling down on chicken little.
I remember my mother crying and crawling into my bed. She told me that tomorrow we would pack our bags and go up to Klang to visit with her mother for a while. She said we would be going a long time and so I had to sleep well tonight and she would pack all my favourite things tomorrow. I asked her if we were going to drive Papa’s car up to Klang again and that’s when she said “ Your Papa is not coming. We are leaving him behind. I don’t know when we will see him again.”
Heart stopped. Jaw dropped. What’s this? We are leaving Papa at home alone? For how long? “ Sleep girl. Sleep .. tomorrow we take the train.” Sniffed my distraught mother.
That night it felt like the sky did fall down on chicken little. I had no idea what was going on, but even at 6 I knew this was no ordinary fight. As I tried to sleep I turned to face the table light next to my bed and that’s when I saw Him. I recognised Him instantly.. He was the Jesus in my Sunday school class.. the Jesus in my story books.. He looked like Jesus right down to the flowing white gown.
I stared at Him and blinked. I could’nt believe Jesus was sitting on my table next to my night light. I struggled to call my mum who was sniffling but apparently had fallen asleep.. it was just Him and me. I wanted to climb out of bed.. touch Him to see if He was real. He looked at me with kind eyes and said “ I shall never leave you nor forsake you..” then just like that He kinda vanished.
He will never leave me nor forsake me..I had no idea it was a verse from the bible at the time. It was many years later that I was to encounter Him again.. But since Jesus is Jesus.. I don’t count Him as a ghost.. so Yeah Michelle, the Chinaman and his cleaver was my first encounter with a ghost.. even if he was conjured by a frantic house help probably looking for a way to gain some extra vacation time from her Tow Kay Neo.
Hindsight and experience is a wonderful thing. In my more mature state I too have had maids who have pleaded to go home because some dead relative had come a calling in their sleep !
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Moving to Kuching
I came to Sarawak in the 1987. I’d had worked for nearly a year and a half in Singapore after my return as a fresh graduate from the US. My mother had planned for me to buy my first car, my friends were all on a fast track on the corporate ladder. Some were preparing to further their studies and complete their Masters or PHDs. Others were on their way to investing into their first real estate. Some had continued to find jobs after their studies overseas and had no thoughts of returning to sunny Singapore.
It was a time when young Asian women of Singapore were moving up in landscape of modern Singapore. They filled jobs and positions that took them all over the world and would place them on the top lists of many headhunters ( business wise not Sarawakian style ) . Ambition drove them to networking. Work hours ran into the late pm and the hotspots in town were filled with ladies in shoulder padded suits carrying brief cases. Oh yes, the filofax was a big deal , a pre-cursor to today’s PDA. No matter that a small notebook bound in leather with replacable pages cost at least $300/- and above.. it was a must have to keep appointments and important contacts.. woe to the secretary or assistant who lost a page ! It was the era of pre- GIRL POWER!
At the height of all this dynamism.. I decided to get married and not only that.. I decided to get married and move to Sarawak.. GASP!
My mother ( who knew it was coming but nevertheless ) howled about how ungrateful I was and what a huge mistake it had been to send me off to the States. England .. had been her first choice. In England people had a sense of right and wrong, decorum and such But NOOOOO.. she sent me the the US of A because I saked and now I come home corrupted , believing in free will and what not!” What happened to filial piety? Gratitude? What about all the money I spent on you ? Have you no shame? What will the neighbours say?? Next door also like you the only child.. now she Doctor already still she stay with her parents! You go away for four years now want to live in SARAWAK! Why God so unkind to me .. what have I done wrong to deserve such treatment? Better I die lah ! “ ( and you think soap operas are melodramatic.. where do you think their material comes from?!)
My mother retreated in her room . For three days the drama continued. Sighs shattered the eerie silence of our home as my father retreated to his study and I to my corner of the house. We all avoided one another. Each preparing for the storm that was bound to come when Mum finally exhausted her boxes of tissues.
On the third day, she emerged. Teacup in hand and a half box of Kleenex. She walked right past me and went straight into my Dad’s study.. there for nearly an hour I heard them banter. “ She is our daughter and it’s her life.” I heard my dad say.
“ What kind of life will she lead in the jungles of Borneo?? You think lah! It must be the boy and the family “ charm “ her. Make her stupid and reject us for his family . My friends all tell me it is NOT possible she wants to go there . She live all her life in a big city. We send her to USA then now want to go where ? Kuching Sarawak !! What kind of life will she live?? !! What will people say ? “ shrieked my mum.
Then the voices grew quiet. That was when I started to panick. All this conversation I could predict but silence meant strategies were being formed against me… oh Lord help.
I ran out of the house. There were no handphones at the time and I needed to find some comfort somewhere. I called a friend. “ Su you are the only child . What did you expect? Anyway you are still young. Why on earth would you want to marry and live in Sarawak? Why don’t you get him to find a job here in Singapore? Ermm hold on, Yes, Yes I want the artwork on my desk.. by 4pm..no later..Ok sorry, these people just don’t know how to keep deadlines. Well ok, so what are your plans? Do you really think you can survive over there??”
“ Well I like Sara- wak an..” but I get cut off.“ Ah yah Su, you have a degree. You have education. Your parents only have you.What kind of life will it be for you ..what about job prospects? Oh darn, David, David take this and pass it to accounts immediately Immidiately ! ..ermm ok, so tell me how you feel about the whole thing” “ Well,, I would like to give Sarawak a try after all….” But she cuts in again. “ No, no you are not thinking with your head. Men are so many . So easy to find. How do you know he’s the one? You see I have no men in my life.. free and easy.. I am not tied down to anyone . I have no curfews on my time. What I earn I enjoy.. you’re so young.. your parents will be lonely . My God, where is Kuching? What will people say ? What ? ok, erm Su I’d love to talk but I have to go now, my boss just called. It will be ok. Just stay here and marry later . Just think what other people will say. ok bye.” Nnnnnnnnnnnggggggggg the dead tone rings in my ear.. no help there.
But that’s when it hit me. The impact of my decision was not merely about myself and my family. Because this is Singapore.. it will involve all the aunties the uncles and even the Thangachii who sweeps the road side near our house. And then as if on a magical que.. the old aunty roadsweeper passes me. I call out a greeting and she shakes her head at me with sad eyes “ Ai yoh yoh. Ai yoh yoh you young people these days..” and walks away.. wow news sure travels fast.
Ironic. My Asian parents send me to a Western country to learn and live in a western culture . At home we drink tea and have biscuits at 4pm ( a legacy of their own educational stint in Liverpool England ). When we have family dinner their conversation visits every part of the globe and the governments of other lands are pronounced backward and “ stuck in old times” . But today, Asianess rules and although Sarawak is only a 45minute flight from Singapore it’s spoken of as if I have chosen to live in Siberia.
My educated sophisticated friends can think of no other argument except “ what will people think and what career opportunities I would miss”. My aunts and uncles will look upon me as the ungrateful child who never made something of herself.
It dawned on me that I had decision to make. I was not simply asking their permission to marry. I was informing them of my intent. I struggle with that decision a long time before I return home. Flashes of past conversations about ghosts and hauntings ring loud in my head. My mother’s threats that even the ghost of my dead grandparents will rise up in ire. Listening to these thoughts in my head I think, what the heck. I have lived with them all my life.. perhaps they may like Sarawak too.
It was a time when young Asian women of Singapore were moving up in landscape of modern Singapore. They filled jobs and positions that took them all over the world and would place them on the top lists of many headhunters ( business wise not Sarawakian style ) . Ambition drove them to networking. Work hours ran into the late pm and the hotspots in town were filled with ladies in shoulder padded suits carrying brief cases. Oh yes, the filofax was a big deal , a pre-cursor to today’s PDA. No matter that a small notebook bound in leather with replacable pages cost at least $300/- and above.. it was a must have to keep appointments and important contacts.. woe to the secretary or assistant who lost a page ! It was the era of pre- GIRL POWER!
At the height of all this dynamism.. I decided to get married and not only that.. I decided to get married and move to Sarawak.. GASP!
My mother ( who knew it was coming but nevertheless ) howled about how ungrateful I was and what a huge mistake it had been to send me off to the States. England .. had been her first choice. In England people had a sense of right and wrong, decorum and such But NOOOOO.. she sent me the the US of A because I saked and now I come home corrupted , believing in free will and what not!” What happened to filial piety? Gratitude? What about all the money I spent on you ? Have you no shame? What will the neighbours say?? Next door also like you the only child.. now she Doctor already still she stay with her parents! You go away for four years now want to live in SARAWAK! Why God so unkind to me .. what have I done wrong to deserve such treatment? Better I die lah ! “ ( and you think soap operas are melodramatic.. where do you think their material comes from?!)
My mother retreated in her room . For three days the drama continued. Sighs shattered the eerie silence of our home as my father retreated to his study and I to my corner of the house. We all avoided one another. Each preparing for the storm that was bound to come when Mum finally exhausted her boxes of tissues.
On the third day, she emerged. Teacup in hand and a half box of Kleenex. She walked right past me and went straight into my Dad’s study.. there for nearly an hour I heard them banter. “ She is our daughter and it’s her life.” I heard my dad say.
“ What kind of life will she lead in the jungles of Borneo?? You think lah! It must be the boy and the family “ charm “ her. Make her stupid and reject us for his family . My friends all tell me it is NOT possible she wants to go there . She live all her life in a big city. We send her to USA then now want to go where ? Kuching Sarawak !! What kind of life will she live?? !! What will people say ? “ shrieked my mum.
Then the voices grew quiet. That was when I started to panick. All this conversation I could predict but silence meant strategies were being formed against me… oh Lord help.
I ran out of the house. There were no handphones at the time and I needed to find some comfort somewhere. I called a friend. “ Su you are the only child . What did you expect? Anyway you are still young. Why on earth would you want to marry and live in Sarawak? Why don’t you get him to find a job here in Singapore? Ermm hold on, Yes, Yes I want the artwork on my desk.. by 4pm..no later..Ok sorry, these people just don’t know how to keep deadlines. Well ok, so what are your plans? Do you really think you can survive over there??”
“ Well I like Sara- wak an..” but I get cut off.“ Ah yah Su, you have a degree. You have education. Your parents only have you.What kind of life will it be for you ..what about job prospects? Oh darn, David, David take this and pass it to accounts immediately Immidiately ! ..ermm ok, so tell me how you feel about the whole thing” “ Well,, I would like to give Sarawak a try after all….” But she cuts in again. “ No, no you are not thinking with your head. Men are so many . So easy to find. How do you know he’s the one? You see I have no men in my life.. free and easy.. I am not tied down to anyone . I have no curfews on my time. What I earn I enjoy.. you’re so young.. your parents will be lonely . My God, where is Kuching? What will people say ? What ? ok, erm Su I’d love to talk but I have to go now, my boss just called. It will be ok. Just stay here and marry later . Just think what other people will say. ok bye.” Nnnnnnnnnnnggggggggg the dead tone rings in my ear.. no help there.
But that’s when it hit me. The impact of my decision was not merely about myself and my family. Because this is Singapore.. it will involve all the aunties the uncles and even the Thangachii who sweeps the road side near our house. And then as if on a magical que.. the old aunty roadsweeper passes me. I call out a greeting and she shakes her head at me with sad eyes “ Ai yoh yoh. Ai yoh yoh you young people these days..” and walks away.. wow news sure travels fast.
Ironic. My Asian parents send me to a Western country to learn and live in a western culture . At home we drink tea and have biscuits at 4pm ( a legacy of their own educational stint in Liverpool England ). When we have family dinner their conversation visits every part of the globe and the governments of other lands are pronounced backward and “ stuck in old times” . But today, Asianess rules and although Sarawak is only a 45minute flight from Singapore it’s spoken of as if I have chosen to live in Siberia.
My educated sophisticated friends can think of no other argument except “ what will people think and what career opportunities I would miss”. My aunts and uncles will look upon me as the ungrateful child who never made something of herself.
It dawned on me that I had decision to make. I was not simply asking their permission to marry. I was informing them of my intent. I struggle with that decision a long time before I return home. Flashes of past conversations about ghosts and hauntings ring loud in my head. My mother’s threats that even the ghost of my dead grandparents will rise up in ire. Listening to these thoughts in my head I think, what the heck. I have lived with them all my life.. perhaps they may like Sarawak too.
American Ghosts to a cinah girh... ( girl )
The ghosts in America had names... Fredy Kruger, The flying Dutchman, Carrie.. they were violent and malevolent.. they had been wronged and had returned for revenge. Unlike the Chinaman they were not seeking rest.. they longed for blood of those who presecuted them! They were interactive ghosts !!!
As a student I loved the American outdoors. I had consumed Enid Blyton books I had imagined every nook , every tree house, every wild wooded out-door adventure you could possibly cook up. I loved sleeping under the stars, listening to the night owl and listening to the splash of the otter in the Wisconsin lake.. Then... they brought me to watch the Chainsaw Massacres..Night mare on Elm street..every shadow in the woods began to take on an odd shape. I thought I had escaped the Flying Chinaman and his haunted cleaver but no .. the ghosts in America lived on streets, in Highschools and on camp grounds. In phone boothes, bathtubs and abandoned motels!
Who was the fool who said " ghosts can't chase you over water.." Probably a chinese spiritualist who never travelled !
The more I read about them.. the more I watched them my world became smaller. I never enjoyed camping again as I watched the woods suspicious that someone would know what I did last summer. If I lived on a street.. I'd make sure it was any other kinda wood except Elm. If I met a Carrie in any one of my classes , I made sure I treated her very well..and if Jeff and I travelled.. I made sure our Motel room was close to the road so that if anything should happen I'd be able to run for help !!
Fear is a terrible thing. It cripples you and it plays with your mind. Like a cat toying with a mouse.. it eats you up from the inside out..It limits your confidence and the ability to enjoy the moment because you are constantly thinking of what's the next bad thing that's going to happen. Fear creates Ghosts where there are none...and suddenly you're being haunted even thou no one you know is dead..
As a student I loved the American outdoors. I had consumed Enid Blyton books I had imagined every nook , every tree house, every wild wooded out-door adventure you could possibly cook up. I loved sleeping under the stars, listening to the night owl and listening to the splash of the otter in the Wisconsin lake.. Then... they brought me to watch the Chainsaw Massacres..Night mare on Elm street..every shadow in the woods began to take on an odd shape. I thought I had escaped the Flying Chinaman and his haunted cleaver but no .. the ghosts in America lived on streets, in Highschools and on camp grounds. In phone boothes, bathtubs and abandoned motels!
Who was the fool who said " ghosts can't chase you over water.." Probably a chinese spiritualist who never travelled !
The more I read about them.. the more I watched them my world became smaller. I never enjoyed camping again as I watched the woods suspicious that someone would know what I did last summer. If I lived on a street.. I'd make sure it was any other kinda wood except Elm. If I met a Carrie in any one of my classes , I made sure I treated her very well..and if Jeff and I travelled.. I made sure our Motel room was close to the road so that if anything should happen I'd be able to run for help !!
Fear is a terrible thing. It cripples you and it plays with your mind. Like a cat toying with a mouse.. it eats you up from the inside out..It limits your confidence and the ability to enjoy the moment because you are constantly thinking of what's the next bad thing that's going to happen. Fear creates Ghosts where there are none...and suddenly you're being haunted even thou no one you know is dead..
Ghosts of the past
Here in Borneo, Sarawak specifically the ghosts are different.. some are headless and some have the power to make you do things you dont want to do... others roam homes and have territorial rights over pieces of land.. some are stuffed in clay jars the height of an average man..some have heads without bodies and bodies without heads.. whatever they are like they have more of a presence here than in Singapore...This is the land of " charms" and magic.. where a love potions can make a married man stay with you, where spells cast can make the occupants of a house sleep in deep slumber as the " orang minyak" slip quietly into your home and rob you blind.. shudder the ghosts here are pro-active as they slip int and out of human form !
My friend Jennifer had lived all her life in the US of A and she married a man who eventually relocated her to Kuching Sarawak. Many of us were amazed by her move.. was it love? Was it a call of God? What on earth would she come here for ( remember this was nearly 25 years ago, Sarawak had no malls and the airport was next to an abattoir !) She said ," My husband told me that Sarawak was a tropic isle, similar to Hawaii ." And with that she packed her bags.. looked forward to long tropical beaches , blue sparkling waters and natives that had orchids round their necks.. But upon arrival she found a strip of land with coconuts at the end of an airport run way, an airport that smelt of pigs when the wind drifted the wrong way and a household of in laws who only spoke Hakkah. She was a long way from home.
My encounter with Kuching was less traumatic. For one, I'd visited the Botanical Gardens often enough. The Bukit Timah Forest reserves were also near my home in Singapore.. I could deal with the trees and surrounding jungle. I was quite excited actually. I remember asking Jeff " Hey for our honeymoon let's go to Borneo.. I hear it's nearby." My husband looked at me incredulously and said " You're already there.. Sarawak in ON the island of Borneo darling."
But where ever I went the old Ghosts followed me.. for me it was things unfinished in Singapore. Highschool encounters I could'nt forget, good friends turned bad, soured relations with an embittered mother, bittersweet memories that rose each time I thought I missed home. They followed me , engaging me at the oddest of times.. something I'd cook, a smell in the markets that reminded me of mum, a voice on the radio that sounded like Gillian, a dog on the street that looked like a pet I had a long time ago.. from no where these ghosts of my past.. lured me .
My friend Jennifer had lived all her life in the US of A and she married a man who eventually relocated her to Kuching Sarawak. Many of us were amazed by her move.. was it love? Was it a call of God? What on earth would she come here for ( remember this was nearly 25 years ago, Sarawak had no malls and the airport was next to an abattoir !) She said ," My husband told me that Sarawak was a tropic isle, similar to Hawaii ." And with that she packed her bags.. looked forward to long tropical beaches , blue sparkling waters and natives that had orchids round their necks.. But upon arrival she found a strip of land with coconuts at the end of an airport run way, an airport that smelt of pigs when the wind drifted the wrong way and a household of in laws who only spoke Hakkah. She was a long way from home.
My encounter with Kuching was less traumatic. For one, I'd visited the Botanical Gardens often enough. The Bukit Timah Forest reserves were also near my home in Singapore.. I could deal with the trees and surrounding jungle. I was quite excited actually. I remember asking Jeff " Hey for our honeymoon let's go to Borneo.. I hear it's nearby." My husband looked at me incredulously and said " You're already there.. Sarawak in ON the island of Borneo darling."
But where ever I went the old Ghosts followed me.. for me it was things unfinished in Singapore. Highschool encounters I could'nt forget, good friends turned bad, soured relations with an embittered mother, bittersweet memories that rose each time I thought I missed home. They followed me , engaging me at the oddest of times.. something I'd cook, a smell in the markets that reminded me of mum, a voice on the radio that sounded like Gillian, a dog on the street that looked like a pet I had a long time ago.. from no where these ghosts of my past.. lured me .
Flying chinamen , cleavers and ghosts
I can remember the night I first met a ghost. He was a china man with a long pigtail. His eyes were bloodshot red, his lips curled back to show his sharp white teeth. His short arms held a cleaver and his rage was felt more than seen.
It was a typical Hollywood nightmare scene with thunder , lightning and lashings of rain. My mum had just returned from somewhere and it was nearly 9pm ..I remember as she was putting me to sleep ..when Ah Chan our house help at the time ran into the main house screaming that the Kwei had come to her window and was pounding it to be let in. I was terrified that the Kwei had actually entered her being as she flailed her arms, hair flying all over her own face, the whites of her eyes overtaking the black..spittle flew in all directions as she screamed and described the ghost who had come knocking on her window with a cleaver.
My mother very quickly took her to another room and told me to play on my own. Ha ! Play on my own!... outside my window the lightning was fast and furious and through the branches of the star fruit tree I thought I saw a shadowy form armed with a cleaver.. I shot out of bed and ran down the hall . I watched as my mother poured out some brown stuff.. which I later learnt was Brandy and tried all manner of ways to calm AH Chan down.
Through her gulps of Brandy Ah Chan described the ghost .. He had come from China to seek his fortune in the Tin mines of Malaysia. Every month he had sent his money home to his parents in China . Then one day, a friend who had enticed him with drink and gambling, tricked him into investing in a piece of land which eventually turned out to be an acre’s worth of swamp. In a fit of rage and anger the Ghost man bought a brand new cleaver and went to his friend’s home.. and with supernatural strength he killed every one in that home and placed each family members 'head in a grisly fashion on the Chinese altar of the home. Then he calmly tied a hang man’s noose in the middle of the family room or the house and hung himself.
That was a lot to get out of a ghost in such a short encounter.. what had Ah Chan done ? Had tea with the ghost and let it lay bare it’s soul to her?.. My mother must have thought the same thing as she asked “ AH Chan , how do you know all this ?” “ Ah yah Tau Kay Neo ( Boss Lady ), He is my sister’s husband lah. When he die my sister so shame she no want to bury him. She say let the police throw him into a box enough. He bring so big shame now she got no face to go outside. But I tell her he your husband . He ghost will be lost if we no bury him properly. People die like that also people. You his wife must give him proper funeral. Ah Yoh, you see now his ghost no peace . Every night come and tell me to ask my sister bury him. Tonight, maybe he cannot stand anymore come to my window! Ah yah hou sway ! ( so cursed )”
“ You know the only way now is I go to see his people. He got some cousin in Batu Pahat . I give them some money to ask the Chinese priest to pray for him. But I only got address .. there got no telephone. Ah yah, so mah fan ( inconvient), but Tau Kay Neo if I don’t do like this he come to your house every night or..please you give me 2 days to go to Batu Pahat look for his people.”
The next morning my mother gave Ah Chan an advance in her salary and sent her off to the bus station. I half wondered who the ghost would speak to now that she was gone and wanted to ask Ah Chan if she had remembered to tell her brother in law she was going to be away.. what if he came again tonight? Who’s window would he bang on?
I stayed awake all night . I listened to imagined sounds of screams in the night, looked for tell tale signs of shadows with pigtails. Once I thought I heard an insistent tapping at the window and ran to take refuge in my parents big bed. That experience opened my mind to the “ other “ world.
From Yusoff the gardener I learnt about Pontianaks living in the Banana trees in our back garden. His wife Ramla told me of nights when they could hear the Pontianaks screaming like Banshees especially when she had just given birth ( Pontianaks are women ghosts who have lost their children at childbirth or have commited suicide while pregnant.. they were female vampires that specialised in seducing men ). If a new born baby was not well taken care of the Pontianak would come and steal it’s soul leaving it to grow up like a zombie.
At school my friends taught me that we could talk to ghosts.. using the Ouiji Board. My own mother when she was very upset with me would shout “ When I die I will come back and haunt you. Now ask you to learn to cook .You don’t wan. Wait next time I die you want me to wake up from my grave to slave over you hand and foot!”
Or an old favourite “ When I die I will bring my mother and father to show them what an ungrateful and naughty child you are “ she used to rant. My young mind was filled with impossibly possible things. Flying ghosts, cleaver yielding china men, beautiful yet dreadful pregnant dead women…they soon became oddly familiar . The Malays would tell me stories about the Ponitanaks, the Chinese always had violent and tragic ghosts and the Indians…their ghosts inhabited trees, lakes and forests!! I grew up very aware and always looking for something I felt must be lurking around.. especially if I were in Asia.. because in America, the ghosts were different.
It was a typical Hollywood nightmare scene with thunder , lightning and lashings of rain. My mum had just returned from somewhere and it was nearly 9pm ..I remember as she was putting me to sleep ..when Ah Chan our house help at the time ran into the main house screaming that the Kwei had come to her window and was pounding it to be let in. I was terrified that the Kwei had actually entered her being as she flailed her arms, hair flying all over her own face, the whites of her eyes overtaking the black..spittle flew in all directions as she screamed and described the ghost who had come knocking on her window with a cleaver.
My mother very quickly took her to another room and told me to play on my own. Ha ! Play on my own!... outside my window the lightning was fast and furious and through the branches of the star fruit tree I thought I saw a shadowy form armed with a cleaver.. I shot out of bed and ran down the hall . I watched as my mother poured out some brown stuff.. which I later learnt was Brandy and tried all manner of ways to calm AH Chan down.
Through her gulps of Brandy Ah Chan described the ghost .. He had come from China to seek his fortune in the Tin mines of Malaysia. Every month he had sent his money home to his parents in China . Then one day, a friend who had enticed him with drink and gambling, tricked him into investing in a piece of land which eventually turned out to be an acre’s worth of swamp. In a fit of rage and anger the Ghost man bought a brand new cleaver and went to his friend’s home.. and with supernatural strength he killed every one in that home and placed each family members 'head in a grisly fashion on the Chinese altar of the home. Then he calmly tied a hang man’s noose in the middle of the family room or the house and hung himself.
That was a lot to get out of a ghost in such a short encounter.. what had Ah Chan done ? Had tea with the ghost and let it lay bare it’s soul to her?.. My mother must have thought the same thing as she asked “ AH Chan , how do you know all this ?” “ Ah yah Tau Kay Neo ( Boss Lady ), He is my sister’s husband lah. When he die my sister so shame she no want to bury him. She say let the police throw him into a box enough. He bring so big shame now she got no face to go outside. But I tell her he your husband . He ghost will be lost if we no bury him properly. People die like that also people. You his wife must give him proper funeral. Ah Yoh, you see now his ghost no peace . Every night come and tell me to ask my sister bury him. Tonight, maybe he cannot stand anymore come to my window! Ah yah hou sway ! ( so cursed )”
“ You know the only way now is I go to see his people. He got some cousin in Batu Pahat . I give them some money to ask the Chinese priest to pray for him. But I only got address .. there got no telephone. Ah yah, so mah fan ( inconvient), but Tau Kay Neo if I don’t do like this he come to your house every night or..please you give me 2 days to go to Batu Pahat look for his people.”
The next morning my mother gave Ah Chan an advance in her salary and sent her off to the bus station. I half wondered who the ghost would speak to now that she was gone and wanted to ask Ah Chan if she had remembered to tell her brother in law she was going to be away.. what if he came again tonight? Who’s window would he bang on?
I stayed awake all night . I listened to imagined sounds of screams in the night, looked for tell tale signs of shadows with pigtails. Once I thought I heard an insistent tapping at the window and ran to take refuge in my parents big bed. That experience opened my mind to the “ other “ world.
From Yusoff the gardener I learnt about Pontianaks living in the Banana trees in our back garden. His wife Ramla told me of nights when they could hear the Pontianaks screaming like Banshees especially when she had just given birth ( Pontianaks are women ghosts who have lost their children at childbirth or have commited suicide while pregnant.. they were female vampires that specialised in seducing men ). If a new born baby was not well taken care of the Pontianak would come and steal it’s soul leaving it to grow up like a zombie.
At school my friends taught me that we could talk to ghosts.. using the Ouiji Board. My own mother when she was very upset with me would shout “ When I die I will come back and haunt you. Now ask you to learn to cook .You don’t wan. Wait next time I die you want me to wake up from my grave to slave over you hand and foot!”
Or an old favourite “ When I die I will bring my mother and father to show them what an ungrateful and naughty child you are “ she used to rant. My young mind was filled with impossibly possible things. Flying ghosts, cleaver yielding china men, beautiful yet dreadful pregnant dead women…they soon became oddly familiar . The Malays would tell me stories about the Ponitanaks, the Chinese always had violent and tragic ghosts and the Indians…their ghosts inhabited trees, lakes and forests!! I grew up very aware and always looking for something I felt must be lurking around.. especially if I were in Asia.. because in America, the ghosts were different.
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