I’d bought this red mug during my first trip to England in 1985. We (aunt, cousin and cousin’s family) were driving up to Manchester to visit cousin’s husband’s cousin and aunt, and at a rest stop somewhere between London and Manchester (a cafe with a pottery store), I saw and fell in love with this mug.

Its pristine condition shows that I’ve not used it much over the years. I didn’t want to risk breaking, or even just chipping, it, so I’d kept it away all these years.

There was another reason – tea stains that clung on and refused to be washed off. But recently, I tried a tip I’d read online – I soaked the mug with water “laced” with a denture cleansing tablet and the stains came off but not 100%. Maybe I’ll soak it again. But will I use the mug? Nope. I still don’t want to risk breaking, or even chipping, it.

That 1985 trip was a turning point in my life. I fell in love with England, having experienced it first-hand and not just through books and magazines. I told myself I would return and stay longer, but I knew the only valid reason to stay longer was if I returned as a student.

A year later, I was retrenched (laid off from work). It was the start of the 80s recession. Instead of looking for another job just to get by, I told myself it was time to go back to school. I spoke to my parents about it, and my mother said “good idea, we support you but we don’t have the money to help you.” She spoke to my sister who said I should’ve thought about it earlier (literal translation from what she said in Cantonese).

So I got to return to England, thanks to my sister’s generous financial support. I got to stay there longer (3 years) and legally as a full-time student.

Oh, I’ve digressed from the story of this 25-year-old mug …

I remember sitting at the round marble table upstairs doing my Malay homework, and thinking “No school tomorrow!”

I remember we took turns peeping out from the middle window in my parents’ bedroom to see the burning on the street below. It wasn’t easy – the windows were the old-fashioned wooden-slat type and we had to physically open the window for a slit wide enough to peep through.

I remember seeing the photo shop burning across the road. It had a huge glass display window, some framed photos inside surrounded by yards of decorative fabric. The window got smashed and the wooden photo frames and fabric used for burning.

For many years, there were different versions of what happened, why it happened and who was involved. For many years, these different versions of May 13 conflicted with mine, but the recent publication of May 13 by Dr Kua Kia Soong has verified that what I remember of that night is true.

He would be 80 if he were still here.

Five days ago, his 2nd sister-in-law passed away at the age of 87. During the funeral, I learned from my cousin Ronnie that his father, my dad’s 3rd brother, had been 58 when he passed away in 1979.

The day after 2nd aunt passed away, I found myself thinking it’s just 4th uncle and Sai Goo (dad’s youngest sister) left of their generation. Then I remembered 2nd uncle is still here. Mother, too. 4th aunt as well. And Sai Goo Jeong (Sai Goo‘s husband). Also 3rd aunt. Oops x 5. I’m losing my mind.

On the 2nd evening of 2nd aunt’s wake, sitting at the same table with some cousins, I brought out my Palm TX and showed off the old family photos in it. I’ve done this before, but this time, the old photos brought up the old family movies shot on Super8. My sister and I asked about them and learned they’re with 4th uncle’s family. Now there’s a possible family project to convert the Super8 reels to DVD.

I have a keen interest in preserving our family’s history. Although I was only 3 when my grandfather passed away in 1961, I’d heard enough stories about him to know he was a special man. One, in particular, was told by a man who knew grandfather and had been the recipient of his generosity.

I learned from Sai Goo that grandfather had been 75 when he passed away in 1961. This meant he was born in 1886. The story I remember being told about him as a successful businessman who decided to come to Malaya (as Malaysia was known then) to open a Chinese medical hall was recently revised after a chat with my Sai Goo. Grandfather had actually come to Singapore to work in a Chinese medical hall and later came north to Kuala Lumpur to work in the KL branch of that medical hall. Years later, around the time my father was born, grandfather came out on his own to open a shop that sold a variety of goods but eventually only Chinese herbs (the business he knew best).

I also always thought Grandfather’s older children were born in China, but I was wrong. When grandfather came to Singapore, he left grandmother behind in the family village, and only sent for her later. All their children were born in Malaya, although there is a gap of a dozen years between the eldest, my 2nd uncle, born in 1919, and the youngest, my Sai Goo, born in 1931.

In his time, the family’s Chinese herb business grew and a second shop was opened. My grandfather became quite a prominent figure around town. Although no streets were named after him, at the time of his death, he was sent off with a grand funeral procession that took up all the trishaws in town (to carry the funeral tapestries given by business associates) and went from the shop in Chow Kit, through the major roads, all the way to the Kwong Tong Cemetery near Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka.

He was sent off in a grand hearse, and just before the final journey started, the entire family gathered in front of the hearse for a last photograph with him.

There are holes in my knowledge of the family history. In particular, I need to find out more about my Dai Goo (father’s eldest sister) who passed away when I was studying overseas, and also Dai Goo Jeong, her husband. As a kid, I used to visit their family, and also Sai Goo’s family a lot; I visited both together as they were living near each other in Sentul, which was then known as “Cowboy Town”.

As with most family histories, there are also dark spots that nobody really talk about. During 2nd aunt’s funeral, Ronnie had referred to 2nd uncle as Dai Bak (eldest uncle). We actually have a Dai Bak, who was adopted into the family as a boy but, because he was adopted, was not close to the family and instead committed an unfilial act that caused grandfather to put an advertisement in the Chinese newspapers to disown him. According to Ronnie, at grandfather’s funeral, Dai Bak’s eldest son had attended but the rest of the family refused to let him put on the mourning clothes. That was how serious the rest of the family viewed the unfilial act. But many years later, when Dai Bak passed away in Singapore, 2nd uncle and his eldest daughter, 3rd aunt (Ronnie’s mother), my dad, my sister and my brother attended his funeral. And when his wife passed away, my brother attended her funeral on behalf of everyone else. Sometimes, despite family quarrels and even the most unfilial act, family is still family, especially with the passage of time.

Related Posts:
Grandpa Chin
Grandfather’s Generous Spirit
The family’s Singapore connection

It was such a rare occurrence that when we arrived at our 3rd aunt’s house (the first relative we visited), the old lady exclaimed “Which wind blew you here – north, south, east or west?”

Yes, “we” visited because I went along, partly as navigator and partly for company (I’d already visited on the first day with my brother). This really shows how long since Jen last visited our various uncles and aunts – she’s mostly forgotten the way, and this was not helped by the fact that the roads have changed and also the familiar scenery along them.

We visited three houses that day – 3rd aunt’s, 2nd uncle’s, and Sai Goo‘s (she is father’s youngest sister; sai means “little” or “youngest”, while goo is the word for aunt on father’s side).

Jen managed to meet up with two cousins of her age that day. This was a treat because the rest of the year, everyone would be too busy to keep in touch, except over the phone. Meeting up with cousin Kat, Sai Goo‘s eldest daughter, was probably the highlight as she and her family live in Brunei so the chances of meeting up at other times were really rare. This was why we waited for her after Jen spoke with her on the phone while at her mother’s house.

As kids, the older cousins used to hang out with one another a lot. Maybe because they hadn’t met for so long, but cousin Kat started asking my sister “do you remember?” questions when they sat down to chat after she eventually returned from lunch (as it turned out, with another cousin and her family).

“Do you remember grandfather’s big black car?” she asked my sister. “The driver would fetch me in the evenings to the main shop and we would all go to play at the roundabout.”

My sister said yes, but after comparing descriptions, it turned out she was remembering the wrong car.

“Do you remember cousin Jimmy used to stage talentime shows on Grandma’s 4-poster bed? He was our ringleader!”

My ears perked up. Grandma’s 4-poster bed? Talentime shows? My mind pictured all these little kids running on top of its mattress and pretending to sing.

Grandma’s 4-poster bed had a special place in my childhood. It was the bed that I shared with my nanny when I was under her care.

The bed was big. How big? I remember nights when I couldn’t sleep and I would get up, tie the corners of my little blanket into a “bag” (the way I’d seen it done in Chinese sword-fighting movies) and walk on the bed, pretending I was travelling, going from one village to another (the way the heroes in those Chinese sword-fighting movies used to do).

The bed was high, too. How high? Nanny used to store boxes of stuff beneath it, and I had my little secret place there, hiding my little notebooks (paper) in a box way inside the underside of the bed. It was especially cooling for naps on hot afternoons.

I remember being told Grandma had given the bed to Nanny when Nanny came to work for us. For a long time, I thought they were friends. It was only recently that I realised it couldn’t have been. Grandma had died when father was just 8 years old, and Nanny had come to work for us soon after Jen was born, when father was around 22. Grandma and Nanny couldn’t have been friends. A piece of family history has now been rewritten – well, not rewritten, but set in its proper time frame.

My guess is that Grandma’s 4-poster bed remained after she passed away. None of father’s siblings took it because its size made it difficult to dismantle and move (it was also heavy, made of brass.) Some of them were living away from the shop. The more modern ones preferred, well, more modern furniture. So, when Nanny came to work for us, and our family was living under the same roof as the bed, she was given the bed to share with the baby (my sister), and later with my brother, and then with me.

When we moved out of the shop in the early 90s, it was to a house with rooms that would not fit the bed. I asked around and a friend from my schooldays asked if she could have it. She had seen the bed before when she used to visit and always thought it would be a neat bed to own. She didn’t mind the trouble of dismantling the bed and moving it. She later told me her niece and nephews really enjoyed sleeping on the bed – they had never seen or slept in such a big bed before!

It’s years since I’ve asked about the bed, and I hope it’s still providing rest for someone somewhere. Not sure about talentime shows, tho.

This has been a year of anniversaries …

Of course, every year is an anniversary for some event that’s important to someone somewhere in the world. 2009, however, seems to have more than its share of anniversaries for events that have affected not just individuals, but whole groups of people.

In addition to the San Francisco earthquake, other notable anniversaries in 2009 include the 40th anniversary of both the May 13 incident in Malaysia and Woodstock from 15 to 18 August, and the 20th anniversary of Tiananmen Square on 4 June.

It is also the 40th anniversary of Stonewall on 28 June. I mention this historic event separately because, although I’d heard of Stonewall, I was not aware of its anniversary date until recently.

In contrast, I have personal memories of the other four events.

May 13 in Malaysia

For many years, there were different versions of what happened, why it happened and who was involved. My grandfather’s Chinese herbal shop was on the street where it all started. I still remember all the other shops were already closed, but ours wasn’t. My dad and his older brother refused to close the shop, instead waiting at the entrance and it was only when they saw a group approaching from the opposite side of the roundabout that they decided to pull the metal shutters and lock up. Till today, I still shudder at what would’ve happened if one of them had stumbled and they were a moment too late.

I remember sitting at the round marble table upstairs doing my Malay homework. I also remember thinking “No school tomorrow!”

For many years, the different versions of May 13 conflicted with mine, but the recent publication of May 13 by Dr Kua Kia Soong has verified that what I remember of that night is true.

Woodstock – 3 Days of Love, Peace and Music

No, I wasn’t at Woodstock but I did go to see the movie when it was shown in Malaysia about a year after the event. It was a heavily edited version, altho there were still shots of that naked woman bathing in the open. There was only one female singer in the movie – Joan Baez – and it was there I heard her for the first time, and fell in love with her voice. Another vivid memory from the movie – Alvin Lee of 10 Years After being given a huge watermelon which he slung over his shoulder (can’t remember right or left shoulder).

Years later – late 1990 – I accepted an invitation to visit my professor and her family at their house near Woodstock. She took me to a poetry reading and I wrote this in my journal:

It could only happen in Woodstock. A number of 60s people still remain, and these are the people who have formed a group to protest the possibility of war in the Middle East that seems imminent. There was a draft resistor there who may be going to jail for what he’s doing. IT”S VIETNAM ALL OVER AGAIN.

Tiananmen Square

I was in my final year at the University of East Anglia when Tiananmen Square happened. This is what I wrote in my diary of the event.

Sun – 110689 (1:16)

I’m going down to London later this morning to join a demonstration in Chinatown. Heard about it on the telly on Thurs, and immediately made the decision to go. Was hoping to thumb a ride from Michael and Siu Lin but they’re not going. Apparently, there’s a coach going from UEA but I want to travel on my own.

However, the more I think of it, the more I realise it’d be a mixed demo, with different political groups joining in. All the more reason to go alone, so I can drift away if I get cheesed off.

Mon – 120689 (23:41)

I’ve worked it out that I was on the go 16 hours yesterday – from 6 am to midnight. And it told on my work today. So many errors! Also, I really felt TIRED.

Yesterday has been physically and emotionally exhausting. I took the 7:20 to London and it was a slow train, taking more than 3 hours, and changing once, arriving at 10:13.

As far as demos go, yesterday’s was in the same mould. Apparently, about 20,000 turned up. I don’t agree with a lot that went on, altho the demands were intelligent, particularly asking the British Govt to extend the visas of the mainland Chinese students.

I felt excluded, because almost everyone else there was with a group. I went as an individual.

It was very emotional overall, but the only time I got emotional was during the singing of “Heirs of the Dragon”, especially the line “Black eyes, black hair, yellow skin, forever heirs of the dragon”.

When the march started (after 2½ hours of listening to various speakers), I moved to the first corner and stood there, scrutinising every face walking past. I was waiting either for Julia or the UEA group. No UEA group, but saw Julia and walked up to her. She was REALLY surprised to see me.

She agreed the demo was basically a lot of “fei wah” (literally “wasted words” but actual meaning is “rubbish” or “bullsh*t”). The march progressed to the Chinese Embassy, by which time both of us were really tired and fed-up. Also, I was having one of my infamous headaches. We left at 3:50 p.m.

San Francisco Earthquake

I can’t find my 1989 diary where I must’ve written something about this. The following is taken from a post I wrote recently on the Flickr AlphaSmart group.

I had just arrived in San Diego to start my grad studies in 1989 when the Loma Prieta earthquake happened. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know it was called that. I remember being outside and hearing a female student walk by quite hysterical and telling her friends her grandmother’s in San Francisco and she couldn’t get her on the phone.

Around 2 a.m. that night, my phone rang and it was my sister asking if I was alright and they heard on the news that the Golden Gate Bridge had collapsed. What happened was the tenant in my dad’s shop had heard the Chinese news (news on Chinese language radio) about the earthquake and the bridge in San Francisco collapsing. For many Chinese people around the world, there’s only one bridge in San Francisco and that’s the Golden Gate Bridge, that’s why my sister asked.

Actually, there’s another anniversary of importance this year, altho compared to the other anniversaries I’ve written above, this one is just a “baby”, just a year old. But in terms of magnitude, and especially in terms of what it meant for my beloved giant pandas, the May 12 earthquake in 2008 ranks alongside the others, maybe even more. I observed that 1st anniversary by being with my precious bears on that very day itself.