07.22.08
Becoming legends.
Heritage is a fickle thing. It will die along with the old if it is not passed on to the next generation.
In this new world, what is in the past is unlikely to survive. Look around you. Kids do not play traditional games anymore; they would rather spend time on their computers and PS3s and Wii’s. Kids do not wear what their parents used to wear anymore; boys pretend to be black in Americanised fashion and girls pretend to be cute in Taiwanese outfits. Kids do not take up what their parents live on anymore; why be an accountant or a lame business manager when you can travel the world or be an entrepreneur.
But it is a different story in places like Terengganu. A place built upon the pillars of traditions and heritage. What will become of it when the time comes for the past to dissolve and become nothing but the fake display in the deserted museum.
I thought I saw a flicker of sadness in the makcik and pakcik’s eyes whenever we asked them if they have children taking up what they have been doing since young. They would shrug and say, “Ah, what can you do? Kids have better things to look forward to these days. They don’t need these.” But judging from the downhearted tone in their voices, you know they would still hope their children would continue on the family business. When the time comes, they could die a happy man/woman knowing what they have lived their life on will still be alive when they are long gone.
What they do, is something that involves the entire family. No child, boy or girl, big or small, is ever left behind in this affair. Like the families making Keropok Lekor, Sata and Otak-Otak, famous tidbits in Terengganu made mainly from fish paste.
For Keropok Lekor, it is an industry. While one family goes out to sea to catch fishes, another will await the catch of the day. While one family grinds the fish to paste, another shapes them to boil. These food staples are so famous they got families – lots of them – making it. Every street you go down on, there will be at least one stall set up selling Keropok Lekor. In this case, such heritage is hard to die. Because it has become more than a heritage. It has become a breathing entity.
Modernisation is a two-edged sword when it comes to prevailing a heritage. Some may embrace it, bringing their industry to greater heights. Some will frown at it, seeing it as a threat to kill what they have known their entire life.
There is this makcik who wakes up at 3 in the morning since she was a young girl to make kuih akak, another famous Malay food in Terengganu, and selling them to fixed shops who in turn sell them to the public. The day has come and gone when modernisation came a-knocking and introduced an oven to help better their baking process. But the makcik would rather stick to the traditional way. She would still make the kuihs cooked on charcoals and covered under layers and layers of coconut shells. The old skool kind of oven, as the tour guide put it. It is something you do not see everyday.
But what amazed me more than seeing this makcik still living in the olden days, is seeing kids no older than I taking up the family legacy.
There is a famous wau-maker, who makes traditional Malay kites to professional wau-flyers. And he has got these guys, who would swing by to help carve the colour papers to perfection and cut the bamboos to make the kite frames.
And there is this girl, who is just a year older than me, and she spends every day of her life under her family’s house and by the songket-weaving machine. From 9 to 5 every day, perhaps an hour or two’s break, but every day, just sitting by the machine, memorising the torpedo’s count and weaving the silky patterns onto the cloth. And it’s not like an entire piece could be done in a day; she could only manage a few inches of it in a day and most songkets take roughly a month to finish. There is no manual or directory to teach her how to operate the machine, or what kind of pattern to take up. She grew up watching her mother doing this, and just like that, she knows. It is like the threads are weaved into her blood veins.
And there are these kids who would rather play gasing during their spare time, instead of video games. The kampung leader takes great pride in them little ones because they win awards with their favourite toy. Boys and girls dressed up in traditional Malay wears greeted us with their gasing-playing tactics. Watching them spinning the top on their thumbs, and throwing it from one player to another. Not to mention, they are good at it too.
I am a Chinese who grew up in the city, so it was an eye-opening trip to go into the depths of a Malay village and watch children and elderly breathe to life the traditions I have only read about in primary school textbooks. And as a city-dweller, it was a journey to rediscover simplicity and humility.
You don’t see things like these anymore. Even the people we visit, they are the sole makers left. In a kampung that used to have families making brassware or Keropok Lekor, today there are only a handful of them left. It makes me wonder what will become of these legendary heritage in ten years’ time. But somehow, after seeing the little ones living up to the traditions, I know it will not just disappear one day. If it were to go down in flames one day, they will let it burn bright red all the way.
Also seen on VM @ Travel Talk.
07.16.08
A writer’s kind of dream retreat.
I remember the chalet we stayed in during our stop at Airlie Beach on our Cairns summer road trip. The beach was not the prettiest compared to the others we saw, but the moon was out that night and we had a simple pasta outside our unit and played a few rounds of mahjong. I remember turning to Jacqui and said, “Wow, this could just be the perfect retreat for us writers to come and write our book.”
I will never forget.
Imagine this.
You finish up the very last of your assignments that have not stopped coming in since three years ago. You pack up your laptop and leave the office in a jiffy before your boss exits from his room and calls for more tasks to be done. You get into the car, look over at the backseat and smile down at the duffel bag packed with a week’s worth of clothes, toiletries, your favourite book, and a set of white paper. You avoid the heavy traffic that usually leads you home, and set out for the Fraser’s Hill highlands.
You reach Ye Olde Smokehouse on the steep slope and check in to the room you have booked a few months back. The Guenevere Suite, a name worthy in the beauty of a valiant queen. You drop your bag and survey the room as the bell boy bid you a good night’s sleep and leave you be.
It has been a long day, and finally you are where you are supposed to be. You take a bath that seems to last a lifetime, change into the Peter Alexander flannels you bought a few weeks ago, perhaps reserved just for this occasion. You don’t need any air-conditioning, though the place has none to offer either. You don’t need any electrical fan, though it is there in case it gets too warm. All you need is to open your window to let in the cool breeze of a higher ground. Switch off your cell phone, you don’t need that anymore. Nevermind music to go to sleep to, listen to the loudest silence you have almost forgotten. You snuggle into the depths of the flowery linens, and the moment your head hits the pillow, all you remember is darkness.
Wake up to the whiffs of home cooked breakfast from the kitchen below. And you ask yourself, when was the last time you actually wake up at your own time, and cook up a breakfast that lasts you till tea time? So, you savour it and take the biggest inhale. The juiciest sausages, the runniest eggs, and the freshest orange juice.
You have the choice. Perhaps to have breakfast in your very own dining room. Or to the dining area downstairs, bid your neighbouring escapees a very good morning – and actually mean it – and read your favourite book instead of the everyday newspaper.
Maybe for the first few days, you take a stroll in the courtyard, listen to the conversational birds and string words together for your empty pages. Then, when it is more than enough, you find a nice spot you can be in, take a moment to take in the quietness and tranquility, and start the writing you have been putting off forever.
For lunch, head into the dining area to get away from the midday sun. Sink your teeth in some afternoon delight that the chefs have meticulously prepared for you. Have a chit chat with the staffs or the guests, exchange life stories, find out the seemingly poor looking bald man actually owns a rich box company across shores, or that the young waiter serving your coffee is actually saving up money to sail around the world for 80 days. You never know which storyteller may be your next Eskimo friend.
You find it easier to smile up at the approaching old couple, and you feel nice enough to offer them the closes seats in the living room. Strange, really. Because it suddenly strikes you that you have not been smiling – willingly – for a very long time, and that you would rather turn the other cheek than acknowledge frail old people.
Perhaps you can strike up a conversation with them. Start the smallest of talks, and ask the most random questions, like “what is your favourite TV show of all time?” or “if the Earth turns backwards, will we be walking backwards too?” Or maybe you would like some time alone. So, you make our way up to your room for a few more chapters of your writing. You can choose to write three words for the day, or three lines, or three pages, or none at all. You are in control, and you smile. You have never felt so liberated.
Come tea time, take a break. Step out into the warm courtyard for the freshly baked English scones and apple pie and freshly brewed coffee and tea. Find a little corner for yourself under the tree with your favourite book. Spread a layer of butter, another of whipped cream, and another of strawberry jam. Brush the tiniest crumbs onto the saucer and be prepare for the most sense imploding taste you have ever tasted. Be ready to hold back your moan as the moist texture brush against your salivating tongue and wash down past your throat as smooth as silk.
Take it. Take it all in. The lingering taste in your mouth. The calmness that surrounds you. As you watch the failing dusk in front of your eyes. Empty your mind as red turns to blue, and the inviting smell of dinner lures you back into the house.
As you sit in the warm bath again tonight, you feel a little down because the day seemed to have passed by so quickly. Suddenly, you grow afraid that the seventh day will arrive too soon, and then, you are back to the claustrophobic cube of your office and this time, your boss will corner you and dump a week’s worth of task on you that make you wish you have never taken the holiday in the first place. You sigh.
But then. You shake yourself awake. You are not going to spend the rest of your day-offs dreading of when it is over. So, you put on a smile and head to bed for another night. As you lay awake staring at the curtained ceiling, you thought what a wonderful day it has been. Nothing to worry about but the next line in your book. And the best thing is, you get to do it all over again tomorrow. Rinse and repeat.
There was no beach, nor immaculate moonlight, nor friends to play mahjong with. But I have England and a piece of its countryside. It is a good enough place for the writer to roll up her sleeves and learn to write for herself again.
++
Ye Olde Smokehouse Hotel & Restaurant
Jalan Jeriau
49000 Fraser’s Hill
Pahang Darul Makmur
Malaysia
T: +6 09 362 2226
E: frasers@thesmokehouse.com.my
W: http://www.thesmokehouse.com.my
07.13.08
How to teleport – well, almost.
Yes, how we all wish we can teleport like Hiro Nakamura of Heroes. If not to the past or the future, but at least just to get from one place to another at the snap of the fingers, and in zilch seconds. Small time travellers don’t just travel long distance to other countries or states, and only hop on airplanes and buses. Sometimes, we have to be our own drivers, figure out the route ourselves and pay up on the insanely high fuel pumps.
So, this is what I think: Why spread out your appointments to different days when you can do them all at the same day to save time in so many dimensions. Sure, there is a line to draw on biting off more than you can chew, but hey, what’s life without a little adventure, especially when there aren’t much to look forward to in your life anymore.
This is how it goes.
1. Making appointments
Consider the travelling time that you will need, and I don’t mean only the time you are going to spend in your appointments, but also how much time you need to get from one place to another. Bring into mind also the rush hours and lunch hours, which you may need to put in an extra half an hour or more, give or take.
Next, consider also the journey path. What is the point of saving time and money if you travel from A to C then back to B but need to get to D and then back to A again. Know the locations of your appointments then arrange them accordingly so that it makes a straight path. Maybe not literally, but straight to not make you go on two trips back to the same location.
I managed to arrange four appointments, which are in three different locations, with two hours apart for each, and all during the office hours, lunch hours included. If you are staying in KL, you would know that Bangsar stands in between Petaling Jaya and the KL city, and you would know as well that during lunch hours (or any fucking hours for that matter), it is a headache to drive in KL. And for someone who doesn’t hail from KL, getting lost is pretty damn easier than getting on the right roads.
So, I decided to start things off from Petaling Jaya, get to Bangsar, then to KL (whereby the two locations are nearby as well), before going back to PJ. OK, so going back to PJ from KL ain’t exactly a joy ride, but one must cut some slacks too.
2. Getting directions
A map directory is always handy, but a GPS will always be handier. But if you don’t have the luxury to afford such expensive gadgets, settle for the next best thing. You can also look for a friend who has grown up in these parts of town, and is more familiar with directions.
For me, I hit up JoeVern, a kid grown up beneath the KL city lights and has – according to him – discovered every nook and cranny possible in Klang Valley. Someone as fluent as he, gave me a rough idea how to get from one place to another, which expressway to hit up, and which route is better to get on to avoid certain gridlocks. Check out the map directory along with his directions and you would already have a next to clear idea of the journey.
3. Pushing appointments forward
Time is crucial, we know that right about now. If it so happens that you manage to wrap up an appointment earlier, why not ring up the next appointment and see if they can push the appointment forward? That way, not only can you get to another location without rushing, you can also wrap things up earlier.
But keep in mind not to push things. You are, after all, riding the waves according to the wind; going against it will just break your sail and capsize your boat. If the appointed person is not free to do so – or just not nice enough to grant you such flexibility – let it be. Just head to the place earlier, hang out in your car to read a book or listen to Death Cab’s new one, or just wander around the mall a little.
4. Biting the right mouthful
If you can’t make it, you can’t make it. If you can’t fit in more than five appointments in the allocated day, you can’t. It’s Murphy’s Law, or some other guy’s law. In fact, it’s common sense, really. Would you date more than three girls simultaneously when you know each need alternate days and your money cannot support it? No. You will, at most, date two girls, and leave Sundays all to yourself. So, same goes for appointments, if you can’t go any more than four appointments a day, give it a rest.
5. Prepping for the journey
The usual drill. Make sure your car is in good condition. Yes, even when it is just travelling in town. And make sure you have sufficient fuel in the car to run for the day. Have your map directory bookmarked, or your directions in close proximity so that you can check them from time to time without getting into an accident. And, don’t be an ass: pull over and figure out where you are if you are lost; don’t just stop in the middle of the road. Ask someone too, if you may. Also, have the appointed people’s contact numbers, just in case you need to call them up.
Have a good book with you in case #3 isn’t possible to carry out. And for a comfortable drive, put in your favourite band to listen to. For me, it was Death Cab’s Transatlanticism, Plans and Narrow Stairs. But hey, each to his own. You can listen to whatever genre of music you like for all I care. As long as it keeps you from getting on a road rage, we on the road at the same time are as happy as you are.
Happy driving!
07.07.08
Genting International Jazz Festival 2008 : Night 2
Event: Genting International Jazz Festival 2008
Date: April 5, 2008 (Saturday)
Venue: Genting International Showroom, Genting – City of Entertainment
It was an easy start on the second night with Key Element’s rendition of Do Re Mi. They reminded me a lot of Australia’s Idea of North, but who could not, what with them being one of the few Jazz groups out there to take up A Capella instead of an instrument. And besides having the soaring sopranos, tender tenors, alluring altos, and beaty basses, there is not much one can do but to add unnecessary choreographs to spice things up.
I cannot really say that Key Elements is the best thing out there, but I do appreciate the ways they try to capture the audience’s hearts.
Their covers outnumbered their originals, but they were covers of famous tunes from the East and the West, so they definitely got the crowd reminiscing with the late Teresa Teng’s The Moon Represents My Heart, Michael Buble’s Spiderman Theme Song, Barry Manilow’s Meet Me Midnight, and other famous tunes in French, Spanish and Japanese. They did the cheesiest dance moves too, although I think they would have done well anyway without the moves, but hey, it kept me entertained.
Tangora was not lying when she said she has the best musicians in her group. One may find her cocky at first, but you sort of change your mind when you see her go on stage and sing her soul out. Her set was a rainbow of percussion blended with passionate piano that was full of Jazz. The crescendos worked well backing up her soaring and sensual voice.
It was a fusion of Caribbean, Latin and French music. It was a beach affair with the ever loved steelpan and the craziest piano solos I have ever heard. (Mario Canonge, I bow to your awesomeness and I wish I have fingers like yours). It was like slipping into a Hawaiian outfit with a glass of cocktail while basking in the warm sun at the beach, with Tangora’s voice like crashing waves under the illuminating moonlight.
From the peaceful retreat of the Caribbeans, hop on the time machine and get transported back to the days when doing the twist is actually cool. Neander’s Jazz Band brought home the New Orleans Blues that was much alike to Miles Davis with their serenading trumpet and trombone, well-rounded clarinet and bellowing double bass.
When Hendrik Bay Holler did a solo on his double bass, it was as if he was strumming on our heartstrings and any girl could just melt at his feet. May I also add that he looks a lot like Jonathan Rhys-Meyer, which added to the sex appeal. When Per Neander was not captivating hearts with his trumpet, he was singing like a one Louis Armstrong. It was like Armstrong came back to life in the form of this trumpeter, and of course, Neander could not resist to sing the ever famous and loved What a Wonderful World during their encore.
There came a storm when Schalk Joubert took the stage with his Four Continent Sextet. Entitled El Nino, their opening track was a plethora of a perfect storm. Shannon, the saxophonist, was a feisty character as she translated all of her into her instrument and brought forth a whirpool and lightning. (May I add she is also the hottest saxophonist I have ever seen too; I couldn’t keep my eyes off her). There was the heartwarming trombone like the calm before a storm, and the distorted trumpet that came like a rushing tide of flood. There was the bass like the roaring waves and eventual pitter-patters of raindrops. I thought Joubert was insane putting together a band from diversed continents, and now that I have heard them live, I think he is just plain mad. Heh.
Jazz Jamaica was a group of musicians with a mission: to nurture the future generation through music. And here, the youngsters got to strut their stuffs. They brought over the distinguishable Reggae beat that was mixed with Jazz. Easygoing backing of the double bass and crashing cymbals, and the simplest guitar ticks and repetitive piano to go with the screeching band of brass. Dreadlockers got to let their hair down when the Festival came to a close that night, swinging to the familiar beats of Bob Marley.
The band featured the (supposedly) famous Mryna Hague from Jamaica. (I wouldn’t know, seeing that I wasn’t really into Jazz music and the Jamaican music scene). Age did no harm to her well-preserved vocal as she reached the lowest of low notes gracefully. The diva also performed her 1960s hit My Boy that brought such comfort to the crowd, you just know that it was going to be a perfect bittersweet ending you will bring home with you. That in months to come, you would still hear the tiniest echoes of the performers at the back of your mind, and though foggy, you would still always remember that the Festival was just simply awesome.
07.01.08
Genting International Jazz Festival 2008 : Night 1
Event: Genting International Jazz Festival 2008
Date: April 4, 2008 (Friday)
Venue: Genting International Showroom, Genting – City of Entertainment
There was no dillydallying at the 2008 Genting International Jazz Festival back in April. They went straight down to business and hit the right note with Junkofunc’s upbeat funk. There was no need for icebreakers or easing appetizers; the festival kicked start with contagious plucky bass and exploding percussion that got the crowd on their feet immediately.
Junkofunc reminds me a lot of KC and the Sunshine Band, and that song featured in Evolution. (Don’t mind me, as my brain draws blank of the song title).
The catchy rhythm of the lead guitar seemed to sing to us with its wah-wah vocals, accompanied by a harmonising family of saxophone, trombone, and trumpet, all of which blared right in your face and literally blew you away. I bow down to the awesomeness that is John Ashley Thomas, the percussionist: an adrenaline rushing set of scurry beats that resemble race horses running for the blue ribbon.
A barefooted Ben Belinga clad in his traditional African costume came on and kept true to his words as he let his saxophone do the singing. The group brought forth an easygoing beat of smooth piano, cymbalic percussion and distorted chords, though in pieces yet with some strange magic, being together accordantly.
There was an African atmosphere in the air as Ben Belinga came on stage barefooted and clad in his traditional African costume. He kept true to his words as he let his saxophone do the singing with the tiptoeing bass, reenacting a quiet African night when the animals sleep and the trees sigh. When he clicked his tongue to a maracas beat with the jazzy piano, close your eyes, and see rain cleansing the wild lands of the animal kingdom. As the sun rises, hear the percussion go off like the roaring lions prowling for prey. It is messy, it is noisy, it is everything the wilderness should be. As the sax came alive once again with a familiar rhythm, visit the African tribe as they dance to the Rain God.
Diamond Dave and the Doodaddies were a perfect example of the sayings “let the music heal your soul” and “sing your blues away”. They were evidence of cool dads who still can rock out a concert. They took over the stage with some conventional Blues/Country/Jazz. Skipping snares, wailing guitars, sensual harmonica, and a snapping bass. Much alike to the ever legendary Ray Charles. They took us back in time to the 50’s, when music was all about having fun and dancing your heart out. No hidden politics, no shallow materialisms, just a simple guy taking a simple girl out for a good night sealed with a sweet kiss.
Hamilton de Holanda was a big guy with a small instrument. He cradled his mandolin in his arms as if it were a fragile infant, and he strummed it with such precision. He did a solo with the craziest fingers I have ever seen. Licks that seemed to scurry up one’s neck along with the increasing rhythm and beat. But when Hamilton slowed things down, it was as romantic as a moonlight stroll in the secluded park, where you could just shut your eyes and dwell in a universe safe from all the harms of the world. Add a harmonica and things just became downright heart wrenching. They brought forth a sad tune hidden in the folds of Brazil with pitching notes and thrilling hums.
Hamilton worked with a band of complicated percussion and bass. Animated bears that are quick and detached, and would give your heartbeat a run of its money. Like the mandolin, the guitar is played with the quickest and most impossible way. Like the famous Brazilian footballers’ grace as they run about in the fields chasing after a ball, and twisting and turning to avoid their opponents.
A teasing yet spectacular finale for the first night to have Salsa Celtica wrap things up. Although by then it was already well past midnight but that didn’t dampen the audience’s spirit. You know things are just going to get insanely good when you add two genres of polar differences in the menu. It’s like scoring a super hot babe that actually has brains as well as epic tits. It was a blend of Cuba and Scotland, bringing you to two places at once that are 3 million miles apart.
With a traditional flute and violin to pave a Celtic background for a traditional Cubanese party tune packed with congas and toms. There was this Scottish cha-cha with the banjo and accordion and bagpipes that got the audience a-clapping and leprechauns a-leaping. It was mayhem, but a good one. And it felt like things had just started despite it being the end of the first half.
