Ang Ku Kueh
I have a mother. My mother has a mother. My mother’s mother had a mother. Generation after generation, we are all just like a flight of stairs though I am quite the exception. In the twenty-first century, we have elevators. Elevators are like magic. It transports you instantly to where you want to go by just a push of a button. That is the problem. It takes you away so fast that you don’t even know you’re drifting away.
Amah, my grandmother, is illiterate. One day, she decided to sit next to me on the bed while I was busy tapping away on my iPhone. She looked at me and asked, “What is that?” I put my game on pause and moved closer towards her. Then, I showed her how it was played rhythmically to the beat of the song. Even though she couldn’t understand the game, she just nodded excitedly and laughed. I swear my grandmother is so cute when it comes to technology. Although she is old fashioned, what could be worse than not knowing your own roots? That was the day I got down and dirty trying to dig into our history.
“I had lips as red as the angku kueh(1) , the ones you ate during Chinese New Year every year, and sunken deep eyes as big as the pearl earrings your great grandmother gave me for my 10th birthday. I was different, I didn’t have fair skin like the others, instead I had what they would call hitam manis- sweet black beauty. Just like the len chi kang(2) kakak(3) makes for you every Saturday, boanehokuaa(4) but tasty.” She said, giggling.
They say things change as time passes. Beneath her ‘len chi kang’ skin, there are aging lines, sprouting out like the hibiscus plant we have in our garden. Her once pearled eyes are now unpolished and her bones are as weak as the canned mackerel fish bones my brother and I would fight for when there was porridge. It is so brittle that when you chew it, it would end up in your stomach within seconds. No matter how fragile she looks now, she still has her ‘angku kueh’ lips that you can’t even tell the difference when she eats them on Chinese New Year. Mummy says it’s her Estee Lauder lipstick. I think she’s just jealous.
“It was just the beginning of a new decade when it happened. They were uninvited guests forcing their way in. Who were they to think that this land were theirs to take? Fools!” Amah said as she ran her fingers through the embroidered peonies of her kebaya(5) with a pained expression. Through her intense brown eyes, I could see a young girl with eyes like mine, falling on her knees as she slowly turned into dust. I tried reaching out to her but before she could grasp it, Amah blinked and the girl was gone forever.
“I am going to sleep now.”
My grandmother turned around and faced the window, her back against mine. I guessed she must be really tired today. Then, a sudden curiosity overtook me. Who was that young girl I saw in her eyes? Ah, it was silly of me to be so inquisitive. I shook the thought away and went to bed. Although it remains a mystery, I knew it was not my story to tell. It was hers.
***
I could still hear it like it was yesterday. Tired engines in the sky, piercing screams in the air and lost hopes everywhere. Strange, but I only heard laughter in my head. I was in an entirely different world. A world where candies fell from the sky like raindrops, green grasses so soft that you could practically lie on them all day and a golden sun that shone so bright, it kept you under its warmth. It was so peaceful that you couldn’t even tell the difference between sleeping and dying.
The Japanese first landed in Malaya when I was just a little girl. Although it was a period of terror, my family thought I was too dumb to understand anything. They called me ‘aekao’- deaf and dumb. Not because I was born disabled, but because I was a child with little words. They were wrong. I didn’t need to read or hear to understand, my eyes told me everything. The Japanese stole our food, snatched our land, destroyed our homes and tortured our people. Books were burned and education was banned. Even the economy was falling apart. Prices rose, food was scarce and many were unemployed. It was a time of fear, hardship and misery, especially for the Chinese.
My family came from a food heaven - the island of Penang. It was a place where you would never get tired of eating, even until today. Char kway teow , asam laksa , lor bak , otak-otak , Hokkien mee and ice kacang , those were the few that you could just buy with five cents. We were lucky, there was always food flooding from our dinner table every night though our happiness didn’t last very long. The Japanese bombed our paradise on December 19, 1941, after George Town was declared a city.
A day before the massive bombing, my father bought train tickets for us to elude the tragedy. He was a smart man, he knew the Japanese would eventually intrude the North after the East coast was attacked. We had no time to lose. My mother and my older siblings swiftly packed our belongings into leather suitcases and together, we fled to Rawang as soon as we could. Almost every possession was taken with us. Kebayas, gold bracelets, porcelain plates and many more. Everything except our dignity, the ancestral home.
They say you can never run away from a real problem. One always leads to another. When we reached Bukit Manchong(6) , the Japanese weren’t just a threat to us. There were thieves everywhere, and you could never be sure when you would accidentally bump into one. I could still remember a young guy with a family of three exploding before our eyes. He was conscientious, full of courage but luck wasn’t on his side. Before he could throw a grenade at one of the thieves in time, it blew up in his pocket and the next thing we knew, he was a dead man. ‘Pai mia,’ like my mother said, tough life.
The war lasted for three years and eight months. My family did everything we could to escape the Japanese. From hiding to running and starving to begging, it was the only way to survive. My younger brother still has a scar that burns of yesterday. He was merely a baby when I took him out for a walk. Who knew the Japanese soldiers would suddenly attack innocent women out of nowhere? I cradled my brother in my arms and slipped under the nearest wagon for protection. Beneath the huge machine, I witnessed a scene so dreadful that it still lives in my memory. They ruthlessly raped young innocent girls and if you were under a wagon hiding like me, I swear, all you could hear would be just agony in the air.
The scar, my brother’s scar, never left his face. The whole thing happened very quickly. After the Japanese soldiers cleared up the streets, we came out of hiding. I was careless. Feeling overwhelmed by the thought that we were finally going home, I crawled out too impetuously. The next thing I knew, his cheeks were bleeding. My mother did everything she could to get rid of the scar, but it just grew deeper and deeper every day. Now, he is known as ‘Tua Jiak Kong’ among my grandchildren. It has few meanings to it. A glutton with a colossal appetite, a burly man, and an uncle with a big scar. I guess that was how they came about naming him at the first place, he was all.
August 1945, it was a blessing like no other. After years and years of angst, the British were finally back! However, nothing was ever the same again. We were stronger, wiser and determined to fight for liberty. The war made us realize that all this while, our strength actually lied within ourselves. Beneath the very core of unity, between different races and among unique backgrounds. We were right. August 31, 1957, Malaya finally achieved its Independence from the British colonial rule. It was the year of the fire rooster in the Chinese calendar, and indeed it burned of victory throughout our souls.
***
“Amah, amah, wake up! There are fireworks outside!”
Together, my grandmother and I walked towards the balcony, into the shadows of the night. Hand in hand, they entwined with excitement, heart to heart, they beat as one. Tonight, we celebrated the joy of friendship, the joy of a family and the joy of having a place to call our home.
“Merdeka, Merdeka!”, we shouted ecstatically, just as the clock struck midnight. Our many sounds of laughter filled the air with glee, making Malaysia proud to call a country of its own of colorful unity, never-ending harmony and a brighter future towards eminent glory.
Malaysia, just by the sound of your name tickles my tummy with pride.
Written by Rachel Quek
Footnotes
Amah, my grandmother, is illiterate. One day, she decided to sit next to me on the bed while I was busy tapping away on my iPhone. She looked at me and asked, “What is that?” I put my game on pause and moved closer towards her. Then, I showed her how it was played rhythmically to the beat of the song. Even though she couldn’t understand the game, she just nodded excitedly and laughed. I swear my grandmother is so cute when it comes to technology. Although she is old fashioned, what could be worse than not knowing your own roots? That was the day I got down and dirty trying to dig into our history.
“I had lips as red as the angku kueh(1) , the ones you ate during Chinese New Year every year, and sunken deep eyes as big as the pearl earrings your great grandmother gave me for my 10th birthday. I was different, I didn’t have fair skin like the others, instead I had what they would call hitam manis- sweet black beauty. Just like the len chi kang(2) kakak(3) makes for you every Saturday, boanehokuaa(4) but tasty.” She said, giggling.
They say things change as time passes. Beneath her ‘len chi kang’ skin, there are aging lines, sprouting out like the hibiscus plant we have in our garden. Her once pearled eyes are now unpolished and her bones are as weak as the canned mackerel fish bones my brother and I would fight for when there was porridge. It is so brittle that when you chew it, it would end up in your stomach within seconds. No matter how fragile she looks now, she still has her ‘angku kueh’ lips that you can’t even tell the difference when she eats them on Chinese New Year. Mummy says it’s her Estee Lauder lipstick. I think she’s just jealous.
“It was just the beginning of a new decade when it happened. They were uninvited guests forcing their way in. Who were they to think that this land were theirs to take? Fools!” Amah said as she ran her fingers through the embroidered peonies of her kebaya(5) with a pained expression. Through her intense brown eyes, I could see a young girl with eyes like mine, falling on her knees as she slowly turned into dust. I tried reaching out to her but before she could grasp it, Amah blinked and the girl was gone forever.
“I am going to sleep now.”
My grandmother turned around and faced the window, her back against mine. I guessed she must be really tired today. Then, a sudden curiosity overtook me. Who was that young girl I saw in her eyes? Ah, it was silly of me to be so inquisitive. I shook the thought away and went to bed. Although it remains a mystery, I knew it was not my story to tell. It was hers.
***
I could still hear it like it was yesterday. Tired engines in the sky, piercing screams in the air and lost hopes everywhere. Strange, but I only heard laughter in my head. I was in an entirely different world. A world where candies fell from the sky like raindrops, green grasses so soft that you could practically lie on them all day and a golden sun that shone so bright, it kept you under its warmth. It was so peaceful that you couldn’t even tell the difference between sleeping and dying.
The Japanese first landed in Malaya when I was just a little girl. Although it was a period of terror, my family thought I was too dumb to understand anything. They called me ‘aekao’- deaf and dumb. Not because I was born disabled, but because I was a child with little words. They were wrong. I didn’t need to read or hear to understand, my eyes told me everything. The Japanese stole our food, snatched our land, destroyed our homes and tortured our people. Books were burned and education was banned. Even the economy was falling apart. Prices rose, food was scarce and many were unemployed. It was a time of fear, hardship and misery, especially for the Chinese.
My family came from a food heaven - the island of Penang. It was a place where you would never get tired of eating, even until today. Char kway teow , asam laksa , lor bak , otak-otak , Hokkien mee and ice kacang , those were the few that you could just buy with five cents. We were lucky, there was always food flooding from our dinner table every night though our happiness didn’t last very long. The Japanese bombed our paradise on December 19, 1941, after George Town was declared a city.
A day before the massive bombing, my father bought train tickets for us to elude the tragedy. He was a smart man, he knew the Japanese would eventually intrude the North after the East coast was attacked. We had no time to lose. My mother and my older siblings swiftly packed our belongings into leather suitcases and together, we fled to Rawang as soon as we could. Almost every possession was taken with us. Kebayas, gold bracelets, porcelain plates and many more. Everything except our dignity, the ancestral home.
They say you can never run away from a real problem. One always leads to another. When we reached Bukit Manchong(6) , the Japanese weren’t just a threat to us. There were thieves everywhere, and you could never be sure when you would accidentally bump into one. I could still remember a young guy with a family of three exploding before our eyes. He was conscientious, full of courage but luck wasn’t on his side. Before he could throw a grenade at one of the thieves in time, it blew up in his pocket and the next thing we knew, he was a dead man. ‘Pai mia,’ like my mother said, tough life.
The war lasted for three years and eight months. My family did everything we could to escape the Japanese. From hiding to running and starving to begging, it was the only way to survive. My younger brother still has a scar that burns of yesterday. He was merely a baby when I took him out for a walk. Who knew the Japanese soldiers would suddenly attack innocent women out of nowhere? I cradled my brother in my arms and slipped under the nearest wagon for protection. Beneath the huge machine, I witnessed a scene so dreadful that it still lives in my memory. They ruthlessly raped young innocent girls and if you were under a wagon hiding like me, I swear, all you could hear would be just agony in the air.
The scar, my brother’s scar, never left his face. The whole thing happened very quickly. After the Japanese soldiers cleared up the streets, we came out of hiding. I was careless. Feeling overwhelmed by the thought that we were finally going home, I crawled out too impetuously. The next thing I knew, his cheeks were bleeding. My mother did everything she could to get rid of the scar, but it just grew deeper and deeper every day. Now, he is known as ‘Tua Jiak Kong’ among my grandchildren. It has few meanings to it. A glutton with a colossal appetite, a burly man, and an uncle with a big scar. I guess that was how they came about naming him at the first place, he was all.
August 1945, it was a blessing like no other. After years and years of angst, the British were finally back! However, nothing was ever the same again. We were stronger, wiser and determined to fight for liberty. The war made us realize that all this while, our strength actually lied within ourselves. Beneath the very core of unity, between different races and among unique backgrounds. We were right. August 31, 1957, Malaya finally achieved its Independence from the British colonial rule. It was the year of the fire rooster in the Chinese calendar, and indeed it burned of victory throughout our souls.
***
“Amah, amah, wake up! There are fireworks outside!”
Together, my grandmother and I walked towards the balcony, into the shadows of the night. Hand in hand, they entwined with excitement, heart to heart, they beat as one. Tonight, we celebrated the joy of friendship, the joy of a family and the joy of having a place to call our home.
“Merdeka, Merdeka!”, we shouted ecstatically, just as the clock struck midnight. Our many sounds of laughter filled the air with glee, making Malaysia proud to call a country of its own of colorful unity, never-ending harmony and a brighter future towards eminent glory.
Malaysia, just by the sound of your name tickles my tummy with pride.
Written by Rachel Quek
Footnotes
[1] Ang ku kueh, a small round or oval shaped Chinese pastry with soft sticky skin and fillings in the centre. It rests on a square piece of banana leaf and is usually red in colour.
[2] Len Chi Kang, a dessert made from dried lotus seeds, barley, white fungus, longan, sago pearls, rock sugar, pandan leaves and luohan guo (a fruit known as Siraitia grosvenori). The pandan leaves and louhan guo work as a natural booster of sweetness to the soup dessert.
[3] Kakak is a Malay word for ‘older sister.’ It is also used by most Malaysian families as a polite way of addressing their housemaids.
[4] ‘Boanehokua’ is a Hokkien expression with an indirect meaning of ‘not very attractive.’
[5] The Nyonya Kebaya, is a beautiful, translucent, figure-hugging embroidered blouse worn with a batik sarong by the Peranakan ladies. (Peranakan, a term used for the descendants of late 15th and 16th-century Chinese immigrants to the Nusantara region during the Colonial era.
[6] Bukit Manchung, a small village inhabited by many aborigines of Malaya even before the World War II started. It is located in Rawang, Selangor Darul Ehsan, Malaysia.
