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My Ah Pae never really grew old. Although I have never known him as a young man, at heart he has always been a curious and even-tempered child. He has an easy bonhomie and always quick with a laugh or an interesting anecdotes. Despite that, beneath his cheerful and easy company, he was also by nature equally content to simply enjoys long stretches of time every day in his own company. He always seemed comfortable in his own skin, and especially in recent years came across to be in perfect acceptance of what life has given to him.
I remember him most for the countless hours of casual conversations we had and stories he had told me. They stood out from my childhood because of the special blend of curiosity, humour and equianimity in the way he viewed the world.
He often spoke about growing up in China living at the "fort end" of a walled village - where different family lived in their own houses-compounds, each with its own walls to guard against bandits. There was a stream outside the village gate where as a boy he would take the family's ducks out to feed. He said ducks are clever in that they know their way home, because at the day's end, all he had to do was to call out to the ducks and they would follow him home. Some ducks would get mixed up with those returning to other families but once that happen the duck would panic and cry out loudly. He said the geese were even smarter because they kept a look out outside homes - like guard dogs - and would bellow loudly whenever strangers comes near.
One trip I regret not taking was going with him to visit the ancestral village. Somehow this-and-that got in the way and later he had to have surgery to remove his bile. Moreover, he was also hesitant about the whole idea because he did not enjoy much his first return trip to the ancestral village. So many people, all claiming to be distant relatives?, invited them to their homes and presented them with red-dyed boiled eggs - and expecting a handout in return - it was all a little too stressful. Each time they were cornered, he and Ah Emm had to turn to speaking to one another in Malay to plot their escape!
I also remember his story from the time when he was among a band-of-boys doing odd jobs at the Japanese HQ during their occupation in Brunei. He said he had a special position because he had the key to the store room. While people outside had to skimp and save up their match-sticks, he had so much strewn around his room that he was roundly told off by Ah Chou (great grandma) for not valuing them properly when she visited him as he lay ill with malaria. Once day, the Japanese told him to expect an air raid so he went off to the riverside where he proudly constructed his own shelter. He dug a hole big enough to sit in and covered with some bamboo slats and grass. He thought it was all quite grand; until he saw a plane shooting a bullet right through a thick concrete wall a few feet before his eyes! He also told me thar it was during the war, when he learnt a secret technique (so he said) for roasting peanuts, one he picked up from observing the chefs when he was living above a coffeeshop where Ah Chek (my grandfather) was working for a time.
His natural curiousity meant that he made a wonderfully observant tourist in his latter years as he travelled through Southeast Asia, China, Europe and America. Anecdotes and stories from his travels are as varied as they come. Once he told me he learnt from a gourmet friend how to choose the best lobsters. Another time he told of the time when he persuaded the chefs at this famous Xiaolongpao restaurant to let him in on their secrets to making juicy xiaolongpaos. He loved talking about the special meals he tasted on his travels, particularly seafood. He talked about his experiences with the different airlines. He marvelled even at ordinary encounters, anything from outsized fruits, to learning about contradictions within a famous Tang Dynasty poem while he was in Suzhou, to commissioning a pair of calligraphy by a master who could simulteneously write with both hands 2 different lines of poetry.
He enjoyed Chinese tea. Over the years, whenever I visited he would offer new teas to taste. One of his favourites was a rare tea plucked from forbidding cliffs using trained monkeys in China. I suspect he enjoyed that whole idea as much as the tea itself. Once he gave me a one-leaf-tea - just one tea leaf would be enough for a whole cup - which one could also enjoy by tucking it under the tongue. He shared with me the Teochew sayings for various "moves" one could use to fill up teacups from the tiny teapot. Neither of us knew much at all but he was happy to show off what he knew (more like, what he just learnt).
Outside Asia, he enjoyed London. I remember him telling me how he felt free to venture around London on his own; he would simply carry with him the address of where he lived so once he had enough he would simply flag down a taxi home. He could spend hours looking at the markets and the shops, buying salmon fillets, appreciating outdoor artists and eating roast duck in Basewater.
He always has a fascination with gadgets. He has a Walkman, a VCR, a TV with a remote control, a microcassette recorder almost as soon as they first came out. He had a microphone that he could use to tape phone calls. He has the first Swiss Army knife I'd ever seen, a gigantic model that include a toothpick and a tweezer on the side. Above all, as a life long photographer he has a love for cameras - especially his collection of Nikons - and assorted lenses which he kept in a professional glass jar/container to keep out the humidity. Once he showed me a fascinating camera lens that is actually a periscope so you can steal a shot while pretending to be pointing the camera somewhere else. The most recent gadget he so delighted in showing me was a cheap $3 lighter from China that came with a torchlight and a pen (?).
Once he showed me his collection of knifes he kept under his bed when he was still staying above the shop. For self-defense, he says, in case of robbers. There was a small sharp dagger by the bedside table, a parang under his mattress, a Ghurka Kukri knife in his wardrobe and under the bed was a rather unwieldy looking 7 foot long blow-pipe with a bayonet at the end. He told me ominously that he had added poison to the blades so he didn't even need to use them too aggressively...only one small cut, he said, and the robber would be finished. I often used to wonder how serious he was - and more like, how seriously a robber would take him if they come upon him at night, dressed as always in his singlet (or pajama top) and loose boxer shorts.
In a way his bedroom is like his Aladdin's cave. The bedrooms were always dark either windowless or with curtains drawn and with the aircon perpetually on. The humid air in the room heavy with a mix of cigarette smoke, Tokuhai-plasters, Vicks menthol and occasionally perfume if Ah Emm was going out. There he would often be perched languidly on his cushy lazy chair in the bedroom in the dark, the room lit only by the screen of the TV in front of him and the sounds from the TV punctuated occasionally by his rather theatrical clearing of phlegm from the throat. He said you can tell if he hadn't slept well because the bags under his eyes would throb. But he was rarely frail or lethargic and one only needed to engage him in conversation before he filled up with energy. In later years, he would try to convince me that although he looked the same his energy was ebbing; each year falling below the previous.
Surrounding his perch in the bedroom was a perfect ecosystem for his comfort and convenience. On a glassed-over rosewood side table was his ash-tray snuffed with barely smoked cigarettes amidst spit, phlegm and ocassionally the clear plastic cigarette wrappers which he used to pick on his teeth. Always nearby, a pair of nail scissors or clipper, ear-wax digger, toothpicks, his gold lighter, cigarettes (Benson and Hedges), his reading glasses and cup of tea. Under the glassed top were calenders and assorted notes and lists. On his ottoman lay his newspapers, TV and video remote controls. Eventually the ottoman too was topped with glass and use for writing the occasional cheques or notes. Next to the lazy chair was a briefcase ("James Bond Bag") with his papers, letters and stuff. Hanging on the wall next to him a Cathy Pacific calender and a small tear-off calender with Chinese calender references.
Before him, the TV was almost always on playing videotapes of Hong Kong TV serials and later Singapore serials. He would eventually discover satellite TV and spent hours watching channels from Taiwan and from different Chinese provincial stations.
After moving to Jalan Muara, he also had another perch in a rattan armchair at the patio where he spent his mornings and sunset. There he has a less elaborate collection of tools and paraphenelia on a small rattan side table and a few, hanging from hooks and loops on a nearby window grating. On the bannister before him, he would set a few joss sticks burning. Recently, he also hung up behind him a picture of the "Bo" tree where Buddha found enlightenment. In the morning, he would have his breakfast at his patio perch. Once he showed me how he saved some crusts from his toasts, crumble them up, whistle to attract the birds which he would then feed. He said he had refined a certain way of whistling so the birds would know to come down.
As he grew older, I observed him growing increasingly serene and more spiritual although less overtly interested in religious practice. He would light the joss sticks because to him it felt peaceful and he liked the smell. He says its not important if the joss sticks were not presented at the alter so long as the wishes are heartfelt. After all he said, all that he prayed was simply for a peaceful life with a light and happy heart.
He actually once came very close to dying in the late 1970s. After years of drinking somewhat excessively, his liver had given up. The specialist in Singapore said he had three months to live and that there was nothing anyone could do. Miraculously, he found his way back with a combination of exotic and expensive Chinese medicine, an ancestral herbal concoction passed down the generations and giving up the drink for good. And for as long as I can remember he maintained a careful diet. Once he found some wonderfully fresh prawns in the market but he was careful to limit himself to only 7 small ones ("or 5 if they are slightly bigger"), which he gently steamed himself. He began having medical check-ups in Singapore every 3 months, where he would stay at the Mandarin Hotel. Once he bragged to me that he could fit all he needed for his short trip in a briefcase.
In his latter years too, he devoted much of his energies helping the Chinese temple committee to manage the Chinese cemetery in Berakas. This was a job he took seriously but often cheerfully. Many mornings he would ask the driver Rudolph (whom he insisted on calling Robert) to take him to inspect the cemetery or look on as Sri Lankan workers cut the grass or construct new plots. Other times, he would generously regale anyone with macabre statistics of how many plots of various sizes he has asked to be prepared in order to keep up with his "demand projections" - over protests from Ah Emm asking him to talk about something else. To that, he would counter that its a simple truism that everyone are born, grow older and will eventually die.
Ultimately, his belonged to No. 31 Jalan Sultan or rather within the footprint of the original 102 shop houses that were built in Bandar town center in the 1950s. That is where he spent almost the whole of his life. Almost everybody knew him and he knew almost everybody and which shop they belonged to. When the shop was around, it was a popular meeting place of friends and acquaintances. If you wanted to know the latest news or gossip the back of the shop was the place to be. Many of those were people who he literally grew up as evident from a collection of photographs he once showed me. A photography buff, he took a lot of pictures of the daily comings and goings of growing up in the 40s and 50s. He used to develop his photographs in makeshift darkrooms but printing them in tiny 2 inches squares to save on paper. Many were photographs of his friends either posed somewhat stylistically in scenic locations or in groups - particularly on fieldtrips to the beach riding on the back of some lorry.
Whenever he walked about town, he would walk about in quick darting steps but often coming to sudden stops to greet someone or teasingly admonish friends he met in shops along the way. Early in the morning he would go to the fish market, which used to be right behind the shop, to check out the day's catch. He spent most of his time at the shop and rarely ate out casually, unless by invitation to an official function or celebrations.
He used to go about on a motorbike but stopped after an accident when he was much younger. He never learnt to drive a car. Even after moving away, he would return to Bandar for quick visits most days of the week driven there and back by Rudolph (or Robert?).
He ventured into brickmaking in the 60s and 70s. What could be easier, he thought, than turning earth into money? It became a rudimentary brick factory in Kiudang manned by experts brickmakers from Taiwan. But in the end that was a money loser and the factory folded into a joint-venture that continue to operate a modern factory to this day. He found it a better fit for his interest in brickmaking to be on the board of that company and occasionally going on trips to Taiwan to acquire new technologies and machinery.
Other than brickmaking, he was rarely truly excited by business. In particular, he disliked and get easily stressed by conflict and pressure from business. Although I have never seen him working himself too hard but I have seen him suffer sleepless nights and driven to distraction by a demand from the bank or a threat from a solicitor. It was clearly painful for him to close the business in 1991, rent out the shophouse and eventually selling the shophouse itself in 2002. But he saw it his duty to resolve the debts from the business and avoid passing the rancour to future generations. For a few years, I would talk him through the decisions he was facing and later helped to implement those decisions. Even if he knew what had to be done, we spent hours where he repeatedly his reasonings as if he needed to convince himself. In the end, the proceeds from selling the shophouse were enough to cover all the outstanding debt and the remainder was split evenly.
He prefers to see his legacy on the personal and family level. For sometime he reflected that he was grateful that all members of the family were well-educated and comfortable in life, he quoted an idiom saying that we could not compare with the best but are way above the rest. He was acutely conscious of being from a small family, especially after his only brother's (my father's) passing in 1997. Once he did a mental count of the entire "Chan" family in Brunei - and the numbers came to about 5 main branches and fewer than 100 persons in total - and that our branch was by far the smallest. This was probably why he often emphasized how we must be forgiving and helpful within the family because that set good examples for our children.
He was active in the Chinese community as defined by being shopkeepers and in Bandar. His most lasting involvement was with the Chinese temple committee. Earlier on he was on the Committee of the Chinese Chambers of Commerce. He is well-respected and generally regarded with affection within the community but hardly held any of the prestigeous leadership positions. That is not surprising given that he was by nature disdainful of power and prestige. He has little or no inclination or stomach for confrontation or conflict. Indeed, he laughingly contrast his peaceful and uncluttered life with the tension and conflicts of others who he saw striving and competing for attention.
About three years ago, he told me that he figured that he could sum up the most important things he learnt in life into a few words which he wrote down for me on the newspaper. I asked to keep what he had written and tore it off the page. A few days ago, when I learnt that his organs were failing and that he probably did not have long to live, I found and re-read that piece of paper:
(my translation)
"Whoever thinks its possible to satisfy everyone? But to wish to be clear in my conscience;
Everything in life has its fate; Everthing should let nature take its course."
Those words, I immediately knew, was what he wanted to say to me there and then. I shall miss him.
2 comments:
i wonder how the grandchildren and great grandchildren of your ah pae or simply your clan would feel when reading this said, in 2027 or 2109...at least this piece will always be found somewhere and not disposed to elements.
your short writing portrays him so vividly from the childhood to the old age, so attentive to even the smallest detail.
I suppose the few years you spent in brunei after you settled down allowed your ah pae and you to bond even deeper and those must have been the most cherish moment between you two.
just a suggestion, you may want to produce his last message in chinese, no amount of english can retain it full flavors.
Bro, better still, I will scan a version he had written off a bit of newspaper.
I actually spent a lot of time with him in my teens and later when I came back from the UK.
Before coming out to New York, I used to go see him once a month or so. After moving to New York, I saw him every trip I went back.
I wrote the piece for myself, but also for my cousin-nephews and niece, who for language reasons might not have had as much conversations with him. I was hoping to help them know and remember the person I know.
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