FRIENDS FOREVER

CELEBRATE FRIENDSHIP





Thanks Ann for my St John's Island escapades

A reunion to remember for a long time

Asni and Balkis

Sheefah and Aindon

Thanks Kamariah for the invitation

Fatimah (in black) joined us later

Another meeting soon for the golden gals

The friends I grew up with - Ann, Zaleha, Hong Choo and Asni

St John's Island with its present beach and its new jetty below


WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR

We met again after forty years of going our own way. The reunion during the wedding dinner brought fond memories for us about our hockey days time and weekend escapades together.

Back in the 60’s there was no Orchard Road for me. No Peninsular Shopping Centre and I never dreamt of roaming at Shenton Way either. To add to the list of ‘No-Nos’ would be Capitol, Lido, Orchard, Hoover and Queen too. These are off course the movie theatres during my growing up time.

That was my restrictive life in the late 60s. I was still a secondary school student and dad was rather strict during those days. The moment he glared and stood still with his 6’ 2” frame at the door every evening after work was a clear signal for me and my siblings to keep a ten mile distance away from him. I am not complaining about not stepping my feet at those must-to be-seen around places at that time for I had and still have very good school friends who would invite and drag me over to their homes come every Saturday and school holidays.

Thank God Dad didn’t mind my weekly rendezvous for he knew who my company was. Having come from a girls’ school, my friends were only of one gender - girls, girls and girls. The unwritten statement was that I had to deliver my results came each term for out like magic would appear the thinnest rotan with its menacing swish in the air if as the eldest, I did not set the right tone for my younger siblings. See how heavy my responsibility was back then. I catapulted into maturity beyond my years of innocence too soon. I owe this to Dad a lot for instilling in me the right values as the eldest child in the family.

I would never forget my trips to Pulau Sekijang Bendera or St John’s Island. My girl friend Aindon grew up on the island before moving to Bendemeer Road. Came Saturday morning or Friday evening, we would board the ferry from Clifford Pier to St John’s Island and stayed over at her sister’s house. Perched on a hill, the house offered a commanding view of the island and you could see the frothy waves lapping against the cliff from the kitchen window. On clear days, you could even see the Indonesian island shore line. We would wake up to a beautiful sun rise scene by the beach and a stroll along the island shoreline. The air was laden with salt spray and I was lost with the serenity and respite of the beautiful and quiet island. Steaming hot coffee and nasi lemak would await us when we were done with our gals’ morning gossip.

The island was known as Pulau Sakijang by the Malay locals, which can be literally translated as the Island of a barking deer. One account states that when the British sailors arrived in Singapore, they fiddled with the name of the island to make it more pronounceable among themselves, hence the name Sakijang was alleged to be anglicized to Sin Jang Island to suit the English tongue. Subsequently Sin Jang Island became St John’s Island over time. The island was also a former quarantine station for leprosy cases and a penal settlement for political prisoners and ringleaders of secret societies.

We left no part of the island untouched. We orientated the beach picking up interestingly-shaped shells for making into necklaces or bracelets. And where there were cliffs replacing the sandy or rocky beach, we had to make our stop for it was impassable to go beyond. Being resilient and not bowing to failure easily, we would wait for the next low tide to continue our outline walking of the island. It was such a terrific feeling to walk and feel the sand with your sole while the waves and the foam kissed your feet. St. John’s natural shores are ringed by coral reefs with a variety of hard and soft corals. Commonly encountered animals included an unusually number of hermit crabs and sea cucumbers.

At times we would jump into the sea giggling and laughing like little girls having their first ride on a carousel. The sun could be baking hot and our complexion would be at the mercy of the fiery red ball but we didn’t care. It was our bonding time and such pleasures should be enjoyed while it last before development and the tractors rob them away from us. I would always return to the mainland as red as a lobster.

We transected St John’s Island hoping for more discoveries. We came across structures of demolished houses, an abandoned cemetery and an unused concrete jetty which had seen its better days. We would utter some prayers whenever we walked past the jetty for it possessed the notoriety of being haunted. Islanders claimed of hearing cries of baby in the middle of the night from the jetty. According to Aindon, nurses working on the island hospital would wheel unclaimed placenta on the jetty into the sea. I must also add that one of the holiday bungalows on the island is also reputed to be haunted. It is right on top of the hill, standing on its own with a sprawling compound.

Bright yellow allamanda, pastel pink hibiscus and royal purple bougainvillea would catch our attention on our scouring trip of the island. They grow wildly on the island but when you lay your eyes on them, you simply want to bring them home. We would place them in empty jam or Green Spot bottles (we started recycling a long time ago) and help to add colour to our host’s living room or kitchen.

We even boatpool and rowed to Pulau Sekijang Pelepah or Lazarus Island, just a few minutes away from St John’s Island. Without fail, the island boys would line up at the jetty and entertain us with their acrobatic somersaults and fancy free fall jumps into the water. The sea was their playground and it was astounding to see young boys having no fear of the deep sea.

Our island home stay ended when Aindon revealed that her family had to leave St John’s Island forever. The island was transformed into a tranquil getaway with swimming lagoons, trekking routes and camping grounds for nature lovers in 1975.

Thank you my friends. I will not forget Jalan Muallaf, Kg Woodleigh, Punggul End, Kolam Ayer Quarters, Genting Lane, Circuit Road, Merpati Road, Lorong Tai Seng, Lorong 27 Geylang, Jalan Pipit, Jalan Pasir, Lorong Engku Aman, Paya Lebar, Toa Payoh and most of all St John's Island.

AWESOME CUPCAKE

A is for Awesone Azizah

The team showing off their cakes
Rachel can't wait to chomp off her way thorough the cake
Awesone Azizah is spelt on the cake
I smile like the face on the cake


SUGARY SWEET

Had a personalised cupcake with my name on it. Everyone in the department received one from Faizah. Amidst sharing our personal experiences, we eyed the sugary gift before admitting defeat and sinking our teeth into the chocolate spongy texture. The round-about-table sharing unveiled many things which we do not know of each other though we had been working together for many years. Dark secrets, sweet memories, fears of the unknown and getting face to face with your age were spilled out unashamedly like marbles rolling out from a tin.

What a way to bond and get to know one another beyond our professional scope as a warm individual person.

TWIST AND TURN

Let's go with Alice and the Mad Hatters to her Wonderland

You are as bright as this balloon, Risha

The beauty and her work of beauty

The power of the hands that can sculpt things

A twist and a turn there for the perfect shape

It's easy Ma'am and the balloon won't burst easily!

Discussing the tea session amidst a rubbery atmosphere

The motif on my baju kurung is like the stem of the flowers

Kamilah, me and Norisha over a cuppa!

Don't sulk! Just get on with your work, will you?

I beg your pardon...I never promise you a balloon garden

Friends forever with balloons to keep company

More balloons will come your way, Mdm!

I had a great ballooning time with Risha and Kamilah

BALLOON TIME

She does not need to huff nor puff like the evil wolf which hopes to bring down the brick house of the three little pigs.

Instead she pumps with the air pump and wrestles with the multi-coloured rubber. She gives it a twist, a pull and a yank there and knots it over to keep it in shape. The cylindrical rubbery millipede- shaped balloon transforms into a flower, a sword, a heart and a poodle at the mercy of her well-manicured fingers.

That's Norisha, our resident balloon sculptor. I did not know of this talent of hers until we had the opportunity to sit down and discuss a tea session we had to organise. While penning down some ideas, out came a stretched balloon which Risha manipulated and tortured into the shape of a sword. But, hey I am not that an ardent fan of the Pirates of the Caribbean nor Captain Hook appeals to me with his cold steel S-shaped hook hand.

With my crestfallen face staring right into her brown eyes, she pulled out two more coloured balloons and shaped them into a poodle, hoping that Clown Bozo's smile would hang on my face. I am not keen on a poodle either. With her deft fingers and some strength to boot, she sculptured more balloons effortlessly. She won me over finally with her stupendous gigantic flowers. I opted for a flower to bloom forever at my workstation. Too lazy to water it nor whisper sweet nothings to it every morning. At least I will keep the Aedes mozie away and be safe from Dengue.

More friends were distracted by the commotion at my table and Risha was complying at the demand of those around her for the balloon sculpture's masterpieces. Crash course on ballooning was held immediately.

Risha is multi-talented. Guess what else could she do? She had worked as a clown before, earning big money at making people laugh at her sadly painted face. Maintaining her poise and elegance, she roars and weaves her way on our tarmac roads with her 1000c bike. She jams the brakes with her killer stiletto shoes, melts her biker partners with her pair of well-eyelined charcoal black eyes and cocks her Transformer-like helmet at the change of the traffic light. She rides herself like a moving and graceful art piece on our expressways.

I still haven't fully discovered what other talent she is hiding in her sleeve. I am safe enough if she does not hide me in her sleeve.

May I have a teddy bear balloon next, Risha? You promise me that.

Gong Xi Fa Cai

XIN NIAN KUAI LE!



Sec 5NA2 clinched second prize in the interclass CNY deco competition

The backdrop behind the class done up by my class students

Red colour dominates the classroom

Streamers hung from the ceiling

Colourful and attractive decorated board

Have a Rabbitlicious New Year!


Lion Dance and fire crackers are integral part of the CNY celebration

TAB YOUR TABOOS

Do you know some superstitions and taboos of Chinese New Year customs? I proudly can say I do! I used to be surrounded by Chinese neighbours and friends when I was growing up. The fact that I had a lot of Chinese and Indian friends when I was schooling also had helped me to understand the Chinese and Indian culture more.

I know for sure that my Chinese friends can't sweep their house clean on the eve of CNY. It's like sweeping all your luck away for the new year. After New Year's Day, the floors may be swept. Dust and rubbish are swept to the middle of the hall. Caution is taken not to step on the rubbish. My neighbours would never sweep the dust out of their front entrance. You would be cursed by the elders and probably hit by the broom on your head if you are caught doing so for it meant you have just swept away all the good fortune of the family. Your sweeping strokes must be inward for harm not to stay with you. One final step to be observed is that all dirt and rubbbish must be taken out from the back door.

You can't give knives away or use knives to cut food or fruits on the first day. You are being anti-social if you do so because it means you want to severe blood ties or friendship. The use of scissors is also avoided for the same reason. Care must also be taken not to break things on the first day. So that explained why when my gang visited my neighbours on CNY, we clumsy kids, were always served with plastic cups and plates while all the fine bone china crockery was hidden from sight.

I stopped short of giving my Chinese neighbour white flowers for a floral arrangement gift on one new year day. White means death and you do not definitely want to wish your good neighbours with immediate death on a very auspicious day like Chinese New Year unless you want to be clobbered to death by him!

During my kampung days at Jalan Kasturi, my Chinese neighbours would fire crackers at the stroke of twelve on New Year Eve to send out the old year and ring the new year with a loud sound. They said it's a way of welcoming the gods from heaven too. All their windows and doors were flung open to allow all the bad luck of old year to flow away on the eve. I shut mine closed incase the bad luck flow through my windows.

The explosive sound of the crackers would last continuously long for almost half and hour. Everyone would fire their crackers at the same time. The kampung became a war zone every midnight of new year eve. We would wait for that moment to see the sparks and smoke of the crackers filling the air. If my neighbours were from a higher income strata, then they would hang their crackers on bamboo poles to lit up. The richer you are, the longer your string of crackers should be.

In the morning, we kids would rummage through the red strewn burnt paper and sieve for any unexploded crackers for our turn to make the pop sound. You should see the joy on our faces when we managed to salvage a few pieces of that cylindrical-shaped fire cracker. Simple joy but enormous fun for tight-budget children like me!

I also learnt that my Chinese neighbours must cook their rice and leave it overnight till the first day of new year. This means that they would have enough food to last them for the whole year. And to ensure that the young have sufficient money for the year, the adults practice giving hongbao to them. There must be a certain amount shoved into the angpow, like $1.00. I am talking about the amount given in the 1960's where $1.00 was preciously treasured.

Anything to do with number '4' pronounced as 'Si' or 'Death' is strictly avoided. You also need to clear your debt before the new year comes knocking at your door. Ill luck would befall on you and the family if you do not settle the I.O.U payment. It is a no-no to borrow money on that day too.

To get a headstart for the new year, my Chinese neighbour would only move house before the new year and never during the festive season. Renovation work should also end before the festivity starts. This is to give the family a brand new lease of luck for the coming year in a new environment.

My kampung friend Wan Ching was once chided by her mum for washing her hair on New Year day. The reason - she was actually washing away all her good fortune for the new year. Nor was she allowed to wear black on the first day of new year. Wearing anything black is frowned upon unless you want a gloomy and doomed year ahead.

Wan Ching's family would go visiting in bright colours. Red is the top choice. Wan Ching would be dressed in a red dress, carry a red bag and walk with a pair of red shoes. Her pony-tailed hair would be tied with a piece of red ribbon. Try asking any youngsters nowadays to wear all red from head to toe 'You xiao or what?'. They will snort and snarl at you with dagger-sharp eyes!

Red is the favourite colour for one to be dressed in if you go visiting. Red is a happy, bright and vibrant colour. It is supposed to bring luck and many happy moments to the wearer. The right tone would set the right luck for the wearer all year round.

My kampung neighbours would also hang a new piece of red cloth at their doorway to signify good wealth for the new year. They would set a table of food in front of their doorway. Chicken, duck, pork, fruits and sweet meat would be offered to the gods. It was a must for all of my neighbours to do so for they believe that before they eat the food, it had to be blessed by the gods.

Understanding the culture, traditions and festivals of others was a rich learning for me during my kampung days. I didn't have to surf the net back then to find out about these traditions. Which kampung lad would have ever heard of a computer in the 60's? No textbook could also have transfered the learning and the experience I went through effectively. It was only through living, playing, eating, celebrating festivals together and immersing your heart and soul with the other races that had enriched me in understanding and accepting how others lead their lives. I believe no culture can live, if it attempts to be exclusive.

Jawaharlal Nehru was totally right when he said, “Culture is the widening of the mind and of the spirit."

TOUCHING BASE

FROM PHASES TO FACES



Have not seen Jamal for about 22 years

Arshad used to live in the same block as us

Pai, the youngest of the brothers

Meeting old frendz again

Arshad has a big family of brothers and sisters

The bride's father and brother

Pau - the bride's mother

I used to tutor Wan (in the centre) when he was in Pri 6

Brothers of four

Zuraidah and Zubaidah - Capt Aman's daughter

Two brothers - Roslee and Pai

Hubby with Roslee

Attended an old neighbour's wedding invitation and for all you know I was surrounded by faces and characters who had crossed my life before. I was able to recognise some but unfortunately there were others whom I could not fit the jig-saw puzzle pieces though I tried hard to retrieve who they are from my memory data base. My friends and neighbours had changed so much that I had no inkling as to whom I was talking or vigorously nodding my head at. Strangely, they could recognise me and even recall my name. Wonder what had they been feeding their grey cells with? How embarrassing it was when these friends and neighbours had to prod my lump of brain, stir some grey cells with a stick in order to jolt my memory of them and their names.

I could see their eyes widening and mouth flapping in eagerness, hoping for me to shout out their names with an 100% accuracy. Alas! I failed them miserably and had nowhere to hide my silly face and the apologetic smile I had to wear throughout the day. When I made a wrong guess, dejection was written all over their faces. I swear I saw some who nearly wanted to aim a chair at me for forgetting their names. I must have eaten more than a dozen humble pies in my more than half century of living on that day alone due to my poor recollection of faces to the names. Gingko Biloba must come to my rescue now!

We had been friends or to state correctly our parents had known each other like 50 years back. We were staying at the far end of Jalan Eunos and our paths crossed often during our childhood days. The kampung was demolished in the 70's to make way for development and after more house-moving we reconnected at Bendemeer Road. Since then we had met or bumped into one another on happy and sad occasions.

Flash back:

Stayed at Jalan Ishak
Jalan Madrasah was next
Shifted to 1 Jalan Buntu. Near to Barrack Hitam. My HEAVEN!
Dad bought a house at 10 Jalan Kasturi
Pigeon holed at Block 23 Bendemeer Road, 12th floor

I must one day blog about my kampung daze and relive the best moments of my life!