Hari Raya Aidilfitri ... I remember those times. Growing up in a predominantly Malay community, celebrating Hari Raya Aidilfitri meant the roly-poly 'Makcik' from two houses away would give us lots of 'kuih batang buruk', 'kuih bahulu', 'ketupat' and the yummy beef 'rendang' on the first day of Raya itself.
Since moving away about seven years ago, I missed the Malay experience, and I am wont to appreciate more the essence of celebrating Raya. In those days, dressed in a 'baju kurung', I would visit my friends and spend the day just renewing ties and getting full from the kuih and rendang.
Mum would take a rest from cooking on major festivals such as Christmas, Hari Raya, Deepavali because in the town where we lived, we would be invited to all the open houses we could go to - which ranged from eight to 10 open houses per festival! From morning till night, we would all be busy and out of the house - visiting friends and tasting all the different curries and rendang and holiday cookies. At times we even had house deliveries - dad's Malay friends who had to pack up and 'balik kampung' would send us some lemang and Raya snacks - to compensate for not holding their 'rumah terbuka' that year.
As a child, I even sang along with those Hari Raya ditties they play on the TV and radio.
But here in the city, it is far more difficult to find a Malay friend as all my friends are back in the small town where I had many happy memories. Even if I could find a Malay family to visit here, chances are they will be going back to their hometown. This festival gaiety is lost in the mad rush to 'balik kampung' and the city is a deserted ghost town come Raya. One smart-aleck friend once remarked that "you could have a tea party in the middle of a KL road (during major festivals like Hari Raya)".
As a child, Norashikin Ali never truly appreciated Raya. She says, "As an adult now, I understand better what Raya actually means and I know how to celebrate it better according to Islamic practices. When I was a kid, I thought Raya is something that happens after fasting. Other than that I always thought it was about new clothes and money." This year, she is really looking forward to the long one-week holiday.
Norashikin Ali - who studies at Universiti Tenaga and professes a love for 'biskut arab' - recalls that her Raya routine meant "waking up early in the morning, getting dressed up in new 'baju kurung', welcoming visitors to our home and collecting 'duit raya'."
"When I was a student in the USA, things were different. I had to attend classes (on Hari Raya day)," she says.
She remembers that the Malaysian Muslims prayed together with Muslims of other countries. "Later that day, we had a simple feast which included rendang which we made ourselves and some cookies. That evening we organised a barbecue with the Arabs who lived there. We Malaysians cooked satay!"
This year, Norashikin will be celebrating Hari Raya in her hometown in Perlis with friends and family. "In the morning we will eat first before we leave for prayers. Then we will drop by to visit friends and relatives," she says, her excitement mounting at the thought of seeing her loved ones.
Among her list of must-do for Raya is preparing ketupat and rendang and visiting friends and relatives.
Pensively, Norashikin remembers that last year was more poignant as it was the last time she celebrated Raya with her mother. "Now she is no longer in this world, I celebrate with my siblings which is quite different. I'm more concerned with visiting relatives while my sisters would rather watch TV and stay at home." With a sisterly shake of her head, she adds that watching TV is not at all what Raya is supposed to be.
For Norashikin, celebrating Raya twice in a year is no big deal. She concludes, "What is more important is how we really make fasting and Raya a more rewarding and blessed (experience)."
Ahmad Taufaik, a thirtysomething teacher who lives in Alor Setar, celebrates Hari Raya with a childlike happiness as he says "It means that my fasting was a success!"
He recalls, "The best memories of Raya is having chicken for the big day as we were very poor in those days and Hari Raya was the one day that we could eat something other than kembung or salted fish."
"In those days when we got 20 sen (for duit raya), it would be too much (money). Nowadays (to the kids) RM5 duit raya means nothing," he laments. Other than that, he says that his favourite Raya delicacy is 'kuih cha', presumably a Penang favourite as his hometown is Penang. He adds almost conspiratorally, "Only my mum knows how to make 'kuih cha'."
His Raya routine is an early morning wake-up call for 'sembahyang subuh' then proceed to the nearest mosque, resplendent in his new Raya clothes, for special Raya prayers. Since his daughter's passing last year, he makes it a point to stop by the cemetery.
As for Raya celebration these days, he echoes Norashikin's grouse. He grumbles that television seems to be the main source of enjoyment for the younger generation. He says, "Those days we would go around the neighbourhood visiting friends and having fun outdoors."
Whether you are reminiscing about the good Raya days of yore or enjoying today's celebration, i-asianwomen.com wishes all our Muslim friends a Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri!
by Krista
27th December 2000
Monday, March 15, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Day She Ended Her Life
Bright, vivacious and most likely to be voted "Most Popular Student of the Year", Deena was every lecturer's dream come true. Deena was independent, self-assured and well-liked. As cliche as it may sound, she was all of grace and charm at 22 years of ge. She wasn't gorgeous but she possessed a pleasant, attractive face with mischievous, sparkling eyes, and that in itself endeared her to many.
If you looked deeper though you would notice that she was haunted by her illustrious, academic past. Deena was, what everyone called, a 'second-timer' - a term varsity-mates coined for her. She wasn't just fresh out of Form Six, she had arrived at this varsity after taking up medical school for a year in a prestigious, local varsity. Friendship had its limits so we were polite enough not to prod too much into her past - especially when Deena was so bubbly - we figured, "Why foment sad memories?"
Simply put, we never uncovered the truth; we heard fragments of so-called "truth" embellished in its own controversy. One of her close friends, Lisa, explained that Deena deplored medical school as it was a constant pressure cooker. She could not wait to complete her compulsory first year so that she could switch courses and varsity. While she must have known that the rumours ('why give up a glamorous career in medicine?' most wondered) were flying fast and furious, Deena did not deny them nor did she proffer any explanation. She acted as if she did not care.
Despite the rumours, she was highly-popular. Her gaeity proved infectious - she could whirl into any room and brighten it with her presence. Fellow students and lecturers laughed when she made witty remarks and our tutorials seemed less humdrum whenever she turned up. It was no surprise then that one or two lecturers claimed her as their favourite student.
No one questioned why she seemed so chatty and bubbly. Was she depressed? Who knew? We were too caught up in our own lives that we noticed not the small silences or the pregnant looks she'd shoot us sometimes.
Once or twice she'd excuse herself from joining our activities and outings. She'd say she was tied up; that was one thing we'd never doubt. Everyone knew she was a busy undergrad, and busy with both studies and activities. If she was not the president of Economics Society, she was the treasurer of the Archery Club. It was simply amazing that she could juggle her extra curricular activities, cram in her studying, get all A's plus still have an active social life!
Although intensely private (we never heard her speak of her family or her previous friends), in rare and surprising moments Deena would give us an insight or two into her relationship with her boyfriend, KC, who was studying in Britain. Green-eyed monsters we'd be whenever we heard that KC sent her roses for birthday, Valentine and anniversary. Deena would shrug it off nonchalantly when we sighed with envy over her blooms. Some girls had all the luck!
So her disappearance in the middle of the first semester of our second year caught us by surprise. On a hot, searing August day, she just took off on her trusty Honda C70. No message, no byes. Initially, Sue, Deena's roommate, said it was perfectly understandable - after all Deena had always been independent and would go wherever she pleased. Being absent from tutorials and lectures was no big deal as we assumed she had a 'bout of homesickness and took off for home in Taiping. It was, after all, nearing study week - a time when undergraduates returned home for a one-week rest before the frenzied three-week university exams began.
Sujata was the one who dropped the bombshell that blistering Thursday in the crowded campus cafeteria. Vividly, I recalled her face - with fear written all over it - as she asked, "Do you know what happened to Deena?" The urgency in her voice was hard to miss; before I answered, she blurted out the whole story: Deena had been found dead, sprawled in a hotel bathroom. She had overdosed on paracetamol!
In movies, this would be the precise moment when the scene hangs in mid-air or it would be one played in slow motion. Time froze. The heat seered, my stomach lurched and the cafeteria was buzzing with chatter, laughter and noises. In the midst of all this, one fact burned in my mind: Deena dead?! "Are you sure?" Sujata nodded. "It can't be," - I told myself - "it's too unreal!"
Rushing to the faculty, I took in the growing crowd of friends and lecturers who were whispering. Some coursemates were sobbing. One of my lecturers had gone to identify the body. Apparently, Deena had booked into a hotel room for the night but when she did not check out the next day, the hotel management decided to investigate. When the staff broke the lock, she had already been cold for a few hours. Dead.
It's sad that unpalatable truths start tumbling out when a person passes away. In the suicide note that Deena wrote to her family, she regretted that she had been forced to excel in her studies by an academically-inclined family; how she had been pressured again and again for not doing medicine and how she received no sympathy from her boyfriend. Underlying the letter was the desolate cry that no one, no one understood her.
Her death shook us up - the happiness, success and love we witnessed fell away. They built a facade that hid a lonely and frightened girl of 22. She wanted to be accepted and loved minus the pressure and stress. Personally, we were guilty as we began to ask ourselves, "How much did we really know her?" Her family did not offer any explanation; perhaps none were necessary because even they, her closest, were at loss to begin. We shied away from the funeral as the family requested a private mourning.
Today, five years after Deena took her own life, I still mourn her untimely death. As friends, we suppressed our feelings and thoughts; no one discussed their feelings to her passing though everyone spoke about the tragic death. If anyone needed counselling, it should be us. "Would she still be alive if we had played a more active role as her friends instead of standing at the sidelines as spectators?" I berate myself time and again.
The answer still eludes me. Nevertheless, two years after her passing, I had a dream. Deena was in my dream and we were rushing like kids into an old, rickety bus; we were going for a picnic. In my dream, she was the laughing, bubbly child of the sun, all smiles with her deep dimples showing.
May peace be with you, Deena.
Friends who commit suicide. It's taboo but we have come across friends or even ourselves who tried to do it or contemplated it when we were truly desperate. Share those feelings with us at theeditor@i-asianwomen.com or drop by Say Your Piece.
by Krista
8th February 2001
If you looked deeper though you would notice that she was haunted by her illustrious, academic past. Deena was, what everyone called, a 'second-timer' - a term varsity-mates coined for her. She wasn't just fresh out of Form Six, she had arrived at this varsity after taking up medical school for a year in a prestigious, local varsity. Friendship had its limits so we were polite enough not to prod too much into her past - especially when Deena was so bubbly - we figured, "Why foment sad memories?"
Simply put, we never uncovered the truth; we heard fragments of so-called "truth" embellished in its own controversy. One of her close friends, Lisa, explained that Deena deplored medical school as it was a constant pressure cooker. She could not wait to complete her compulsory first year so that she could switch courses and varsity. While she must have known that the rumours ('why give up a glamorous career in medicine?' most wondered) were flying fast and furious, Deena did not deny them nor did she proffer any explanation. She acted as if she did not care.
Despite the rumours, she was highly-popular. Her gaeity proved infectious - she could whirl into any room and brighten it with her presence. Fellow students and lecturers laughed when she made witty remarks and our tutorials seemed less humdrum whenever she turned up. It was no surprise then that one or two lecturers claimed her as their favourite student.
No one questioned why she seemed so chatty and bubbly. Was she depressed? Who knew? We were too caught up in our own lives that we noticed not the small silences or the pregnant looks she'd shoot us sometimes.
Once or twice she'd excuse herself from joining our activities and outings. She'd say she was tied up; that was one thing we'd never doubt. Everyone knew she was a busy undergrad, and busy with both studies and activities. If she was not the president of Economics Society, she was the treasurer of the Archery Club. It was simply amazing that she could juggle her extra curricular activities, cram in her studying, get all A's plus still have an active social life!
Although intensely private (we never heard her speak of her family or her previous friends), in rare and surprising moments Deena would give us an insight or two into her relationship with her boyfriend, KC, who was studying in Britain. Green-eyed monsters we'd be whenever we heard that KC sent her roses for birthday, Valentine and anniversary. Deena would shrug it off nonchalantly when we sighed with envy over her blooms. Some girls had all the luck!
So her disappearance in the middle of the first semester of our second year caught us by surprise. On a hot, searing August day, she just took off on her trusty Honda C70. No message, no byes. Initially, Sue, Deena's roommate, said it was perfectly understandable - after all Deena had always been independent and would go wherever she pleased. Being absent from tutorials and lectures was no big deal as we assumed she had a 'bout of homesickness and took off for home in Taiping. It was, after all, nearing study week - a time when undergraduates returned home for a one-week rest before the frenzied three-week university exams began.
Sujata was the one who dropped the bombshell that blistering Thursday in the crowded campus cafeteria. Vividly, I recalled her face - with fear written all over it - as she asked, "Do you know what happened to Deena?" The urgency in her voice was hard to miss; before I answered, she blurted out the whole story: Deena had been found dead, sprawled in a hotel bathroom. She had overdosed on paracetamol!
In movies, this would be the precise moment when the scene hangs in mid-air or it would be one played in slow motion. Time froze. The heat seered, my stomach lurched and the cafeteria was buzzing with chatter, laughter and noises. In the midst of all this, one fact burned in my mind: Deena dead?! "Are you sure?" Sujata nodded. "It can't be," - I told myself - "it's too unreal!"
Rushing to the faculty, I took in the growing crowd of friends and lecturers who were whispering. Some coursemates were sobbing. One of my lecturers had gone to identify the body. Apparently, Deena had booked into a hotel room for the night but when she did not check out the next day, the hotel management decided to investigate. When the staff broke the lock, she had already been cold for a few hours. Dead.
It's sad that unpalatable truths start tumbling out when a person passes away. In the suicide note that Deena wrote to her family, she regretted that she had been forced to excel in her studies by an academically-inclined family; how she had been pressured again and again for not doing medicine and how she received no sympathy from her boyfriend. Underlying the letter was the desolate cry that no one, no one understood her.
Her death shook us up - the happiness, success and love we witnessed fell away. They built a facade that hid a lonely and frightened girl of 22. She wanted to be accepted and loved minus the pressure and stress. Personally, we were guilty as we began to ask ourselves, "How much did we really know her?" Her family did not offer any explanation; perhaps none were necessary because even they, her closest, were at loss to begin. We shied away from the funeral as the family requested a private mourning.
Today, five years after Deena took her own life, I still mourn her untimely death. As friends, we suppressed our feelings and thoughts; no one discussed their feelings to her passing though everyone spoke about the tragic death. If anyone needed counselling, it should be us. "Would she still be alive if we had played a more active role as her friends instead of standing at the sidelines as spectators?" I berate myself time and again.
The answer still eludes me. Nevertheless, two years after her passing, I had a dream. Deena was in my dream and we were rushing like kids into an old, rickety bus; we were going for a picnic. In my dream, she was the laughing, bubbly child of the sun, all smiles with her deep dimples showing.
May peace be with you, Deena.
Friends who commit suicide. It's taboo but we have come across friends or even ourselves who tried to do it or contemplated it when we were truly desperate. Share those feelings with us at theeditor@i-asianwomen.com or drop by Say Your Piece.
by Krista
8th February 2001
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Marriage of Spirits
"It's true," she rasped. Small and hunched, she had small eyes, short, frizzed white hair, and plenty of wrinkled, loose skin set in a typical Chinese face.
Ah-Sum, that's what I called her. She has forgotten many things in her life - she cannot remember when she was born nor who brought her to this old folks' home. Despite this forgetfulness, Ah-Sum did not show signs of senility - I believed that her mind was still agile for a 60-year old woman. If she was senile, how do you account for her insightful and colourful stories? The story she had just recounted had an air of incredulity about it - and with the sunlight streaming in through the open louvred windows, I had a difficult time reconciling with stories about spirits.
"My dear, it truly happened," she sighed. In mock exasperation, Ah-Sum pushed my hands away and ordered, "Go home, you little girl. You must be tired after hearing an old woman ramble like this. Come again next week."
Visiting Ah-Sum has been a weekly ritual for me although Sam Pak (or Third Uncle) passed away last January. I used to visit Sam-Pak and at the same time, talk to this chatty woman who claimed to be Sam-Pak's best friend.
Sam-Pak used to be annoyed with her - he used to say, "My niece is here to visit me and not talk to you. Why are you so noisy?" Ah-Sum would flash a toothy grin and keep quiet for all of five minutes before she dragged me to her side and began her story sessions.
Of her many stories, this one lodged in my mind because it seemed so farfetched.
Ah-Sum said she was about eight years old when she witnessed extensive preparations for a traditional Chinese wedding at the shophouse. In those times, weddings were happy occasions with lots of goodies to eat. She was as excited as everyone in her grandfather's shop.
Ah-Sum's father ran a tailoring business which had been handed down from her grandfather, a serious, no-nonsense tailor who expertly fashioned blazers and coats for the British soldiers stationed in Penang.
But the chief controller of this flourishing family business was her grandmother. A woman who rarely smiled and rarely spoke to anyone in the ancestral home, preferring to bark her orders from her room upstairs. It was whispered in the servants' circles that her grandmother was extremely wealthy. It was this wealth that set Ah-Sum's grandfather in his tailoring business. But, of course, no one dared ask grandfather. With his booming voice and piercing stare, he could silence one with a swift glance.
In those days, they were considered well-to-do as grandfather's business employed more than five people who helped cut, sew and tailor coats. It was a huge family and Ah-Sum remembered that they even employed a cook and three servants.
With four sons and a daughter, her grandfather was the grand partriach of the Lee family. Ah-Sum recounted that her father was the eldest son. Her Third and Fifith Uncle were married and each had children. It was an unspoken rule that everyone must live in the large, traditional shophouse.
"We squeezed into three rooms upstairs and my brothers had to sleep downstairs, wherever they found a place to open up their collapsible beds," Ah-Sum said. Ah-Sum said that she had four brothers and two elder sisters while Third Uncle had four children. Fifth Uncle, fortunately, had only two sons. The tailoring business was shared among the partriach's three sons.
"Fourth Uncle had passed away even before we children were born. He was then a child, about seven or eight years old. Sometimes, my eldest brother with his 'ying' eyes would be able to see Fourth Uncle in grandmother's room."
"Just before the Chinese All Souls' Day, Fourth Uncle appeared in my father's dream one night. In the dream, he said that while in the underworld, he fell in love with a girl and would my father please relay this message to my grandfather? He needed permission to marry."
"My father was disturbed by this dream as he had been about twelve years old when his younger brother died of high fever. He half-heartedly believed his dream and did not want to burden his father, who was then 68, with this dream. In time, he forgot about it.
"But the dream persisted. My father would dream the same dream every night and he began to feel uncomfortable. Finally, he asked mother for advice. Talk to grandfather, mother urged. Ghosts must be appeased or they will remain unhappy. Unhappy ancestral spirits did not augur well for family health and business."
Knowing that grandfather was a strict disciplinarian who tolerated nothing, Ah-Sum's father - armed with a heavy heart - approached the family partriach with trepidation. Fearful that he would be reproached, he was taken back when grandfather, after listening intently to the story, nodded and instructed that if Fourth Uncle appeared again in father's dream, he must tell Fourth Uncle that he had his permission to marry. Grandfather also reminded father to ask Fourth Uncle about the girl.
That fateful night, Fourth Uncle appeared in father's dream; this time he seemed calmer. He needed Ah-Sum's father to find the girl's relatives and deliver the marriage proposal.
In truth, Ah-Sum's father did not quite believe this eerie turn of events. Nevertheless he set about tracking the girl's family, who incidentally lived not too far away. They had a large sundry shop and were merchants of Chinese dried goods. They, too, were visited by the ghost of their youngest daughter (who had also passed away as a child) who informed them that on such and such a day, the Lee family would bring them a marriage proposal.
So imagine the family's surprise when Ah-Sum's father, her uncles and grandfather turned up on their doorstep, bearing a marriage proposal! The girl's family, too, were shocked that their deceased daughter described the events with such accuracy. Indeed, the lovelorn couple had met in the underworld. This was confirmed by a temple medium that both families sought.
At the same time, an auspicious date for the wedding was picked.
From that moment onwards, the two Cantonese families who had never met nor heard of each other if not for their 'ghostly ties' busied themselves preparing for the wedding. It was a first for both parties - both had never organised a ghost wedding. Quite rightly, the medium helped with the arduous preparations.
Ah-Sum recalled being awed by the two life-sized bamboo-and-paper dolls - one male and one female, resplendent in their wedding finery, sitting on opposite sides of the wedding dias. With benign expressions, the dolls looked almost real. Plates of real food - fruits, pink turtle-shaped buns, sweets, roast pig and other meats were carefully placed on a long table. The table also displayed a joss urn and red candles. Chinese joss paper and 'gold' were piled high - no doubt dowry for the bride in the underworld. There were also 'gold jewellery' and 'cosmetic' as well as slippers and clothes for the newly-wed couple. In many ways, it was a real wedding - with real guests and relatives.
An invited medium performed the complicated ceremony, full of incantations and blessings. The robed medium then burned joss paper and cajoled the ghost couple to partake in the feast that had been lovingly prepared.
With his newly-married bride, Fourth Uncle offered tea (through the medium) to their elders for good blessings and fortune in the traditional tea ceremony! The laborious wedding ceremony ended some two hours later, with everyone sitting down to a wedding meal. By a strange twist of fate, Ah-Sum's family and the girl's family were suddenly thrown together as relatives!
While the wedding was pronounced a success; the medium conveyed that the couple wished for a child to make their 'married life' complete. A child who would 'take care' of them - sweep their graves and pray for them come each Ching Ming. The medium approached Ah-Sum's father to find a solution to this predicament.
After much agonizing and family discussion, finally, Ah-Sum's father promised that should his wife give birth, the child will be 'given' to the ghost couple. And so it came to be that Ah-Sum's younger brother became Fourth Uncle's 'son'. Ah-Sum's younger brother was 'handed over' in an elaborate and colourful ceremony to the ghost couple when he reached one.
According to Ah-Sum, her brother visits his maternal relatives each Chinese New Year and Ching Ming (Chinese All Souls' Day). As a filial son, he also visits his 'parents' grave during these Chinese festivals and keeps the graves clean and tidy.
"But he is getting old and his children take over his responsibilities. They make a fuss about visiting the graves and the immediate relatives but somehow or another, they have to continue this family tradition," Ah-Sum said.
"I know this sounds unbelievable especially today when ghosts and spirits aren't real to you young people any more. But this ghost lovestory is true, eerie and strange it may be. After I witnessed the ghost wedding in its splendour, I have always been a believer."
by Krista
14th November 2000
Ah-Sum, that's what I called her. She has forgotten many things in her life - she cannot remember when she was born nor who brought her to this old folks' home. Despite this forgetfulness, Ah-Sum did not show signs of senility - I believed that her mind was still agile for a 60-year old woman. If she was senile, how do you account for her insightful and colourful stories? The story she had just recounted had an air of incredulity about it - and with the sunlight streaming in through the open louvred windows, I had a difficult time reconciling with stories about spirits.
"My dear, it truly happened," she sighed. In mock exasperation, Ah-Sum pushed my hands away and ordered, "Go home, you little girl. You must be tired after hearing an old woman ramble like this. Come again next week."
Visiting Ah-Sum has been a weekly ritual for me although Sam Pak (or Third Uncle) passed away last January. I used to visit Sam-Pak and at the same time, talk to this chatty woman who claimed to be Sam-Pak's best friend.
Sam-Pak used to be annoyed with her - he used to say, "My niece is here to visit me and not talk to you. Why are you so noisy?" Ah-Sum would flash a toothy grin and keep quiet for all of five minutes before she dragged me to her side and began her story sessions.
Of her many stories, this one lodged in my mind because it seemed so farfetched.
Ah-Sum said she was about eight years old when she witnessed extensive preparations for a traditional Chinese wedding at the shophouse. In those times, weddings were happy occasions with lots of goodies to eat. She was as excited as everyone in her grandfather's shop.
Ah-Sum's father ran a tailoring business which had been handed down from her grandfather, a serious, no-nonsense tailor who expertly fashioned blazers and coats for the British soldiers stationed in Penang.
But the chief controller of this flourishing family business was her grandmother. A woman who rarely smiled and rarely spoke to anyone in the ancestral home, preferring to bark her orders from her room upstairs. It was whispered in the servants' circles that her grandmother was extremely wealthy. It was this wealth that set Ah-Sum's grandfather in his tailoring business. But, of course, no one dared ask grandfather. With his booming voice and piercing stare, he could silence one with a swift glance.
In those days, they were considered well-to-do as grandfather's business employed more than five people who helped cut, sew and tailor coats. It was a huge family and Ah-Sum remembered that they even employed a cook and three servants.
With four sons and a daughter, her grandfather was the grand partriach of the Lee family. Ah-Sum recounted that her father was the eldest son. Her Third and Fifith Uncle were married and each had children. It was an unspoken rule that everyone must live in the large, traditional shophouse.
"We squeezed into three rooms upstairs and my brothers had to sleep downstairs, wherever they found a place to open up their collapsible beds," Ah-Sum said. Ah-Sum said that she had four brothers and two elder sisters while Third Uncle had four children. Fifth Uncle, fortunately, had only two sons. The tailoring business was shared among the partriach's three sons.
"Fourth Uncle had passed away even before we children were born. He was then a child, about seven or eight years old. Sometimes, my eldest brother with his 'ying' eyes would be able to see Fourth Uncle in grandmother's room."
"Just before the Chinese All Souls' Day, Fourth Uncle appeared in my father's dream one night. In the dream, he said that while in the underworld, he fell in love with a girl and would my father please relay this message to my grandfather? He needed permission to marry."
"My father was disturbed by this dream as he had been about twelve years old when his younger brother died of high fever. He half-heartedly believed his dream and did not want to burden his father, who was then 68, with this dream. In time, he forgot about it.
"But the dream persisted. My father would dream the same dream every night and he began to feel uncomfortable. Finally, he asked mother for advice. Talk to grandfather, mother urged. Ghosts must be appeased or they will remain unhappy. Unhappy ancestral spirits did not augur well for family health and business."
Knowing that grandfather was a strict disciplinarian who tolerated nothing, Ah-Sum's father - armed with a heavy heart - approached the family partriach with trepidation. Fearful that he would be reproached, he was taken back when grandfather, after listening intently to the story, nodded and instructed that if Fourth Uncle appeared again in father's dream, he must tell Fourth Uncle that he had his permission to marry. Grandfather also reminded father to ask Fourth Uncle about the girl.
That fateful night, Fourth Uncle appeared in father's dream; this time he seemed calmer. He needed Ah-Sum's father to find the girl's relatives and deliver the marriage proposal.
In truth, Ah-Sum's father did not quite believe this eerie turn of events. Nevertheless he set about tracking the girl's family, who incidentally lived not too far away. They had a large sundry shop and were merchants of Chinese dried goods. They, too, were visited by the ghost of their youngest daughter (who had also passed away as a child) who informed them that on such and such a day, the Lee family would bring them a marriage proposal.
So imagine the family's surprise when Ah-Sum's father, her uncles and grandfather turned up on their doorstep, bearing a marriage proposal! The girl's family, too, were shocked that their deceased daughter described the events with such accuracy. Indeed, the lovelorn couple had met in the underworld. This was confirmed by a temple medium that both families sought.
At the same time, an auspicious date for the wedding was picked.
From that moment onwards, the two Cantonese families who had never met nor heard of each other if not for their 'ghostly ties' busied themselves preparing for the wedding. It was a first for both parties - both had never organised a ghost wedding. Quite rightly, the medium helped with the arduous preparations.
Ah-Sum recalled being awed by the two life-sized bamboo-and-paper dolls - one male and one female, resplendent in their wedding finery, sitting on opposite sides of the wedding dias. With benign expressions, the dolls looked almost real. Plates of real food - fruits, pink turtle-shaped buns, sweets, roast pig and other meats were carefully placed on a long table. The table also displayed a joss urn and red candles. Chinese joss paper and 'gold' were piled high - no doubt dowry for the bride in the underworld. There were also 'gold jewellery' and 'cosmetic' as well as slippers and clothes for the newly-wed couple. In many ways, it was a real wedding - with real guests and relatives.
An invited medium performed the complicated ceremony, full of incantations and blessings. The robed medium then burned joss paper and cajoled the ghost couple to partake in the feast that had been lovingly prepared.
With his newly-married bride, Fourth Uncle offered tea (through the medium) to their elders for good blessings and fortune in the traditional tea ceremony! The laborious wedding ceremony ended some two hours later, with everyone sitting down to a wedding meal. By a strange twist of fate, Ah-Sum's family and the girl's family were suddenly thrown together as relatives!
While the wedding was pronounced a success; the medium conveyed that the couple wished for a child to make their 'married life' complete. A child who would 'take care' of them - sweep their graves and pray for them come each Ching Ming. The medium approached Ah-Sum's father to find a solution to this predicament.
After much agonizing and family discussion, finally, Ah-Sum's father promised that should his wife give birth, the child will be 'given' to the ghost couple. And so it came to be that Ah-Sum's younger brother became Fourth Uncle's 'son'. Ah-Sum's younger brother was 'handed over' in an elaborate and colourful ceremony to the ghost couple when he reached one.
According to Ah-Sum, her brother visits his maternal relatives each Chinese New Year and Ching Ming (Chinese All Souls' Day). As a filial son, he also visits his 'parents' grave during these Chinese festivals and keeps the graves clean and tidy.
"But he is getting old and his children take over his responsibilities. They make a fuss about visiting the graves and the immediate relatives but somehow or another, they have to continue this family tradition," Ah-Sum said.
"I know this sounds unbelievable especially today when ghosts and spirits aren't real to you young people any more. But this ghost lovestory is true, eerie and strange it may be. After I witnessed the ghost wedding in its splendour, I have always been a believer."
by Krista
14th November 2000
Monday, February 22, 2010
Farrah Sa'adullah... The Child Pianist
Thanks to web archives, I can still find some of my old articles. It's quite nostalgic considering the website (i-asianwomen.com) has long been gone. If you are wondering why I am digging up my old articles to put on this blog, the entire story is here.
Here's one article (made up of 2 parts) about a talented pianist called Farah. I interviewed her via email. She was just a girl when I interviewed her but she's probably a young lady now. Her story is also interesting in that it was a dream that spurred Farah, a child of mixed parentage, to take up the piano. And like all prodigies, her story reflects how awesome this world really is!
I've been so privileged to meet, interview and talk to countless people when I was the editor of i-asianwomen.com.
===============================================================
Farrah Sa'adullah... The Child Pianist (Part 1)
Born in Sydney on Australia Day (which coincidentally, was also Chinese New Year's Eve) in 1990, Farrah was always a settled and calm baby. Her dad, Alwi Sa'adullah and mum, Susan Au, attribute her gentle temperament to the 1920s 'keronchong' music which was played in their house before Farrah was born. Both Alwi and Susan - from Singapore - have been living in Australia since 1980s.
Her dad recounts Farrah's keen interest in music which began when she was three.
Farrah Sa'adullah....Following her many successes in eisteddfods at such a tender age, the Sydney Morning Herald did a special feature in June 1995 and called her a child prodigy.
"We were browsing at Braschs (a shop selling musical and electronic equipment, music books and CDs) when Farrah said she wanted to play the piano. We eventually bought one for her."
Strangely, Farrah was relunctant to touch the piano for three months - it seems she was waiting for a teacher. Both Alwi and Susan could not guide their daughter as Susan used to play the organ while Alwi did not have any musical experience. So began the search for Farrah's piano teacher.
"After ringing around for a teacher, we found one close enough to our home. We wanted her to learn the traditional method, but the teachers we contacted all declined, saying she was too young," Alwi says.
Luckily for Farrah, her parents then learned about the Suzuki method, which caters for younger children.
Farrah's musical foray began at three years and 10 months when she was coached by Ms Itsuko Bara, a Japanese music teacher who was sent to Australia to promote the Suzuki method.
Says Alwi proudly, "One month later she performed at a concert, playing a twinkle variation. Her talent was quickly recognised by some of the audience who said she had strong fingers." Some of them even remarked that Farrah would be in the Conservatorium by 12. Seven years later, their prediction seems spot-on as it seems she will be there at 12!
After two months of lessons, Farrah began playing with two hands and could pick up a piece from any bar or note. At four and a half years, she performed at the Sydney Town Hall, playing Ecossaise by Hummel at the Suzuki Showcase Concert. Some teachers said that she produced excellent tone, with remarkable contrast. Ms Itsuko Bara told her delighted parents that Farrah "is full of music."
Past Knowledge of Music
Alwi and Susan then met a widely-travelled Jewish concert pianist cum teacher, Ms Zohara Rotem who noted that Farrah played with a tone that a six month student at that age could not possibly produce. At this point, she indicated that Farrah must have possessed some past musical knowledge - one of her students claimed that he played with Beethoven "in his previous life". Ms Rotem believed that Farrah was Chopin.
"After this chance meeting with Ms Rotem, a number of unusual things happened," Susan remembers.
"Farrah used to play long pieces on the piano by herself. She told us that the pieces had three movements and gave them names that were unknown to us. This stopped when we asked her to play her teacher's pieces rather than 'nonsense'. We did not listen to classical music until Farrah started playing. Had we known about classical music we could have understood what she was saying. Today we only have one of her compositions which she played at four. This we will treasure and one day get her to edit it."
Another mystifying occurrence happened soon after. One evening Farrah approached Alwi and proclaimed, "I was an artiste."
"When her Dad asked her 'What do you mean?', she replied 'I compose and I play'. Dad then asked her 'When?' and she replied: 'A long long time ago.' Following this, on numerous occasions, she told us that 'her father died a long time ago.' Before Farrah was born, Alwi's sister, Tijah, said she dreamt Farrah came to her and said she was a composer. If this is to be true, we await to see her talent in composition. Recently she completed the first movement of a sonata. It sounds good so far," Susan discloses.
Besides this, there were also incidents where Susan and Alwi would see Farrah wake up in the middle of the night and her hands would emulate piano movements.
Alwi says: "In the morning when we told her what we saw, she replied, unhesitatingly: 'X came to teach me. So you met him?' However, we've decided not to disclose the name of the mysterious teacher who came to teach her."
Soon after, Susan and Alwi bought her a book on this composer. They showed her the pictures in the book and surprisingly, Farrah could describe to them that "there was a door there", and "when visitors came they sat in the other room". She also identified the piano she had played. For one of the pieces she was playing, she told them that someone had changed the original composition.
Just as suddenly as they began, Farrah's extraordinary episodes ended when she turned five.
Winning Eisteddfods at Four
As early as four, she began winning first prizes at eisteddfods. In one eisteddfod, Farrah emerged first in the category meant for seven-year-olds. Dr Nikoloi Sokolov, one of Farrah's teachers, compared Farrah to the late world famous concert pianist Vladimir Horowitz; he declared that when Farrah plays, the piano 'sings'!
When Farrah was performing at another eisteddfod at five, the adjudicator said that Farrah's rendition of 'Wild Rider' was the best he had heard in his lifetime as an AMEB (Australian Music Examinations Board) examiner. She also played 'Wild Rider' in a special live broadcast for 2MBS-FM radio station at five.
At another eisteddfod, an adjudicator was so moved that he almost cried upon hearing Farrah play the piu mosso in Chopin's Valse 64 No 2.
At the Suzuki Graduation Concert, her first public concert at the Sydney Opera House, when she was five, Farrah played JS Bach's Gigue from Partita in B flat. The capacity crowd gave her thunderous applause; they had never witnessed such a young girl playing such a difficult piece.
At six, she could play from memory all three movements from three Mozart sonatas K545, K330 and K331 in one sitting. Her performance of Rondo Ala Turca at the Australian Musician Academy Christmas Concert attracted much favourable comments. Farrah also sight read and memorised JSBach's Italian Concerto (2nd movement) in a day.
Farrah won the trophy for the 'Most Promising Instrumentalist' when she was seven. The adjudicator, after seeing her handling of Grade 8 AMEB and above level pieces, decided to present her the trophy on the first day of the eisteddfod itself! The trophy, donated by Ronald MacDonald, is usually awarded to the winner in the Open Championship.
She was also selected to perform at the Sydney Opera House, this time playing the third movement of Bach's Italian Concerto. When she finished, thunderous applause, lasting for more than a minute, filled the hall!
Farrah continued to win many other eisteddfods. Susan recounts, "In another eisteddfod, the adjudicator congratulated us and advised us on her future. She said Farrah's talent is rare."
Susan continues, "We met Professor Kyunghee Lee from the Australian International Conservatorium of Music who found that Farrah had perfect pitch and a mature understanding of music. She said Farrah was godsend after hearing her play the complete Mozart Sonata K331 from memory."
Following her many successes in eisteddfods at such a tender age, the Sydney Morning Herald did a special feature on Farrah in June 1995 and called her a child prodigy. The reporter had earlier heard her play Mozart's minuets and was impressed with the ease and feeling Farrah displayed in those pieces. The Inner Western Courier newspaper featured her when she was six, again calling her a child prodigy; and at eight, calling her Miss Chopin.
When Farrah performed at the Italian Song Festival at nine, the Italian magazine 'SonoSiamo' reported: "Little Farrah amazed the audience the night of the festival when her little fingers danced upon the keys of the piano. It was marvellous experience to listen to the sounds of the pieces Farrah was playing. Each piece more perfect than the other. It is truly astonishing to see such a young child being able to play such complex pieces that it melted the hearts of the listeners! Farrah is a rare child who exceeds the limits of talent!"
Not only is Farrah a musical genius, she is also academically outstanding. She obtained distinctions in Mathematics and English in 1999 and 2000 Competitions. She was the only one from her school to be selected for Opportunity Class, Year 5 (Year 2000) at a gifted school.(Opportunity Classes are for academically-gifted and talented students.) Besides playing the piano, Farrah also plays the violin and sings.
Dr Nikoloi Sokolov, one of Farrah's teachers, compared Farrah to the late world famous concert pianist Vladimir Horowitz; he declared that when Farrah plays, the piano 'sings'!
by Krista
27th November 2000
Here's one article (made up of 2 parts) about a talented pianist called Farah. I interviewed her via email. She was just a girl when I interviewed her but she's probably a young lady now. Her story is also interesting in that it was a dream that spurred Farah, a child of mixed parentage, to take up the piano. And like all prodigies, her story reflects how awesome this world really is!
I've been so privileged to meet, interview and talk to countless people when I was the editor of i-asianwomen.com.
===============================================================
Farrah Sa'adullah... The Child Pianist (Part 1)
Born in Sydney on Australia Day (which coincidentally, was also Chinese New Year's Eve) in 1990, Farrah was always a settled and calm baby. Her dad, Alwi Sa'adullah and mum, Susan Au, attribute her gentle temperament to the 1920s 'keronchong' music which was played in their house before Farrah was born. Both Alwi and Susan - from Singapore - have been living in Australia since 1980s.
Her dad recounts Farrah's keen interest in music which began when she was three.
Farrah Sa'adullah....Following her many successes in eisteddfods at such a tender age, the Sydney Morning Herald did a special feature in June 1995 and called her a child prodigy.
"We were browsing at Braschs (a shop selling musical and electronic equipment, music books and CDs) when Farrah said she wanted to play the piano. We eventually bought one for her."
Strangely, Farrah was relunctant to touch the piano for three months - it seems she was waiting for a teacher. Both Alwi and Susan could not guide their daughter as Susan used to play the organ while Alwi did not have any musical experience. So began the search for Farrah's piano teacher.
"After ringing around for a teacher, we found one close enough to our home. We wanted her to learn the traditional method, but the teachers we contacted all declined, saying she was too young," Alwi says.
Luckily for Farrah, her parents then learned about the Suzuki method, which caters for younger children.
Farrah's musical foray began at three years and 10 months when she was coached by Ms Itsuko Bara, a Japanese music teacher who was sent to Australia to promote the Suzuki method.
Says Alwi proudly, "One month later she performed at a concert, playing a twinkle variation. Her talent was quickly recognised by some of the audience who said she had strong fingers." Some of them even remarked that Farrah would be in the Conservatorium by 12. Seven years later, their prediction seems spot-on as it seems she will be there at 12!
After two months of lessons, Farrah began playing with two hands and could pick up a piece from any bar or note. At four and a half years, she performed at the Sydney Town Hall, playing Ecossaise by Hummel at the Suzuki Showcase Concert. Some teachers said that she produced excellent tone, with remarkable contrast. Ms Itsuko Bara told her delighted parents that Farrah "is full of music."
Past Knowledge of Music
Alwi and Susan then met a widely-travelled Jewish concert pianist cum teacher, Ms Zohara Rotem who noted that Farrah played with a tone that a six month student at that age could not possibly produce. At this point, she indicated that Farrah must have possessed some past musical knowledge - one of her students claimed that he played with Beethoven "in his previous life". Ms Rotem believed that Farrah was Chopin.
"After this chance meeting with Ms Rotem, a number of unusual things happened," Susan remembers.
"Farrah used to play long pieces on the piano by herself. She told us that the pieces had three movements and gave them names that were unknown to us. This stopped when we asked her to play her teacher's pieces rather than 'nonsense'. We did not listen to classical music until Farrah started playing. Had we known about classical music we could have understood what she was saying. Today we only have one of her compositions which she played at four. This we will treasure and one day get her to edit it."
Another mystifying occurrence happened soon after. One evening Farrah approached Alwi and proclaimed, "I was an artiste."
"When her Dad asked her 'What do you mean?', she replied 'I compose and I play'. Dad then asked her 'When?' and she replied: 'A long long time ago.' Following this, on numerous occasions, she told us that 'her father died a long time ago.' Before Farrah was born, Alwi's sister, Tijah, said she dreamt Farrah came to her and said she was a composer. If this is to be true, we await to see her talent in composition. Recently she completed the first movement of a sonata. It sounds good so far," Susan discloses.
Besides this, there were also incidents where Susan and Alwi would see Farrah wake up in the middle of the night and her hands would emulate piano movements.
Alwi says: "In the morning when we told her what we saw, she replied, unhesitatingly: 'X came to teach me. So you met him?' However, we've decided not to disclose the name of the mysterious teacher who came to teach her."
Soon after, Susan and Alwi bought her a book on this composer. They showed her the pictures in the book and surprisingly, Farrah could describe to them that "there was a door there", and "when visitors came they sat in the other room". She also identified the piano she had played. For one of the pieces she was playing, she told them that someone had changed the original composition.
Just as suddenly as they began, Farrah's extraordinary episodes ended when she turned five.
Winning Eisteddfods at Four
As early as four, she began winning first prizes at eisteddfods. In one eisteddfod, Farrah emerged first in the category meant for seven-year-olds. Dr Nikoloi Sokolov, one of Farrah's teachers, compared Farrah to the late world famous concert pianist Vladimir Horowitz; he declared that when Farrah plays, the piano 'sings'!
When Farrah was performing at another eisteddfod at five, the adjudicator said that Farrah's rendition of 'Wild Rider' was the best he had heard in his lifetime as an AMEB (Australian Music Examinations Board) examiner. She also played 'Wild Rider' in a special live broadcast for 2MBS-FM radio station at five.
At another eisteddfod, an adjudicator was so moved that he almost cried upon hearing Farrah play the piu mosso in Chopin's Valse 64 No 2.
At the Suzuki Graduation Concert, her first public concert at the Sydney Opera House, when she was five, Farrah played JS Bach's Gigue from Partita in B flat. The capacity crowd gave her thunderous applause; they had never witnessed such a young girl playing such a difficult piece.
At six, she could play from memory all three movements from three Mozart sonatas K545, K330 and K331 in one sitting. Her performance of Rondo Ala Turca at the Australian Musician Academy Christmas Concert attracted much favourable comments. Farrah also sight read and memorised JSBach's Italian Concerto (2nd movement) in a day.
Farrah won the trophy for the 'Most Promising Instrumentalist' when she was seven. The adjudicator, after seeing her handling of Grade 8 AMEB and above level pieces, decided to present her the trophy on the first day of the eisteddfod itself! The trophy, donated by Ronald MacDonald, is usually awarded to the winner in the Open Championship.
She was also selected to perform at the Sydney Opera House, this time playing the third movement of Bach's Italian Concerto. When she finished, thunderous applause, lasting for more than a minute, filled the hall!
Farrah continued to win many other eisteddfods. Susan recounts, "In another eisteddfod, the adjudicator congratulated us and advised us on her future. She said Farrah's talent is rare."
Susan continues, "We met Professor Kyunghee Lee from the Australian International Conservatorium of Music who found that Farrah had perfect pitch and a mature understanding of music. She said Farrah was godsend after hearing her play the complete Mozart Sonata K331 from memory."
Following her many successes in eisteddfods at such a tender age, the Sydney Morning Herald did a special feature on Farrah in June 1995 and called her a child prodigy. The reporter had earlier heard her play Mozart's minuets and was impressed with the ease and feeling Farrah displayed in those pieces. The Inner Western Courier newspaper featured her when she was six, again calling her a child prodigy; and at eight, calling her Miss Chopin.
When Farrah performed at the Italian Song Festival at nine, the Italian magazine 'SonoSiamo' reported: "Little Farrah amazed the audience the night of the festival when her little fingers danced upon the keys of the piano. It was marvellous experience to listen to the sounds of the pieces Farrah was playing. Each piece more perfect than the other. It is truly astonishing to see such a young child being able to play such complex pieces that it melted the hearts of the listeners! Farrah is a rare child who exceeds the limits of talent!"
Not only is Farrah a musical genius, she is also academically outstanding. She obtained distinctions in Mathematics and English in 1999 and 2000 Competitions. She was the only one from her school to be selected for Opportunity Class, Year 5 (Year 2000) at a gifted school.(Opportunity Classes are for academically-gifted and talented students.) Besides playing the piano, Farrah also plays the violin and sings.
Dr Nikoloi Sokolov, one of Farrah's teachers, compared Farrah to the late world famous concert pianist Vladimir Horowitz; he declared that when Farrah plays, the piano 'sings'!
by Krista
27th November 2000
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