Sayang oh sayang

It came full circle.

It is hard to write about this. Very hard. But I’m finding the strength to write this not for the sake of exposing anyone, but to highlight an issue that affects all creative writers and writer-directors, especially. 

Siapa makan cili, dia rasa pedas “feel the pinch”!

I’ve shared this story with some friends. A couple brushed the situation aside with a casual "Ala, tidak apa lah...". But I am not that “tidak apa” Melayu.

Cut to the present; at the special sharing session by, let’s call this person, *Labu. Labu in previous life decides the “content” you watch on your goggle box. Labu shared his indispensable experience and insights earnestly, I have to add.

But throughout the session, I couldn’t shake the memory of my first meeting with Labu back in 2010 or 2011 at the majestic twin towers in muddy plains. It was a pivotal meeting for me. I was struggling to get the film completed. We met up at his invitation. I was eager. I needed to complete my first indie feature film, possibly the first Malay feature in Temasek since local politics made P Ramlee and gang abandoned the lion city in the 1960s. I brought my treatment along and hoped that Labu’s experience might help me bring my vision to life.

The papers were shared, Labu gave his input, and we caught up a little. It was remarkable, really - Labu, who had served national service in Temasek, had risen astronomically in the industry across the man-made landbridge. That same week, I was also meeting with my lead actor, trying to kill two birds with one stone.

It is an open industry secret that Labu allegedly got some *祖父 to be where he was - this industry, after all, is all about who you know, right?

Labu was straight up non-committal at that meeting.

Fast forward to end of 2013. I completed my debut feature film. The film went on to be gilded in the annals of Temasek Cinema.

Sometime in October 2016, a handful of concerned friends on FB reached out to confirm if it was indeed my indie film that was screening on television as a Chinese New Year holiday telemovie special on the Malay channel. I hadn’t sold any rights to my film for television, so I was taken aback.

I looked up the said telemovie. The premise - something about a daughter who tries to honour the memory of her mother by duplicating her mother’s recipe for the father. The actor who played the father was the same (!!) actor in my film. I learnt that Labu and another person, let’s call him Sardine who used to work extensively in Temasek island, were allegedly credited in the telemovie.

Back to the present; the sharing session. I was listening to Labu talk about the importance of collaboration in content creation, about reaching cross-border audiences and the complexities of international markets. Finally, I saw my moment and asked the question I had been waiting to ask for years. With the help of ChatGPT, I translated this into Malay:

“You mentioned the creation of content through collaboration and the importance of targeting content for cross-border audiences in different markets. So, how can intellectual property violations be enforced across borders?”

It’s not what was said, but how it was being said as our eyes locked.

I left the moment the session ended. That was all I could take. I got my payback in a face off after years of watching my original ideas stolen right under my nose. Everyday is a learning process.

A handful of friends suggested the obvious action I should have taken. The creative industry is one of a tight rope, cut throat industry. There are allegedly hundreds of Labus out there in the industry preying on the next naive creatives (musicians, writers, artists etc). This cycle never ends.

If you ask me, though, coming from the perspective of an independent creative, I’d much rather invest the little I have into writing better stories, or into funding the next project.

I hope the next Labu out there learns the hard way that they don’t get to play with the hearts and minds of others without consequences. May the next Labu not end up on someone else’s Halloween dinner table.

I hope Labu and Sardine sleep well.

*Labu = Pumpkinhead

*祖父 = Grandfather

Simplicity

The past couple of months have been intense. The work has been been challenging. Funny that I call it “work” at this point. They say when you do what you love, it doesn’t feel like work. or something like that, anyway. But hey, this is Facebook.

Lately, though, I’ve felt like I’ve lost some footing. When the work you love turns into managing egos 80% of the time, it can really shift your perspective. I needed some grounding.

This evening, I walked past my first cousin’s flat. It struck me how odd it was that we’ve lived in the same block ever since our parents were alive. It was the first time in ages that I actually glanced up at his unit to see if his lights were on.

Growing up, our families were constantly in and out of each other’s homes. We’d knock on each other’s doors without hesitation - no advance texts or calls asking, “Are you home? Is it okay if I stop by?” There was an effortless simplicity to it.

It being rather late so I just texted him - I wasn’t even sure if the number was current. 

(Back then, none of us would have cared about the hour - it was a Saturday night, after all.) It had been two years since we last spoke. No, none of those family drama - life just took over. When he replied, cautiously asking who I was, it hit me how much had changed. We chatted briefly.

The strain of my professional life has me longing for something real - connections that don’t require small talk or reintroductions. I miss the comfort of the people who’ve known me since before all the facades, before the curated social media versions of myself.

There’s something grounding about reconnecting with the people who know you by your childhood nickname, the ones who remind you who you really are. These are the connections that whisper it’s ok to lose a step sometimes because that’s what life is all about.

10 years of SAYANG DI SAYANG

“Sensual debut powered by sights of spicy delicacies and sounds of lovelorn music.”

THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER

“A new realization of our uniqueness and peculiarities. Sayang Disayang is truly a transcendental Southeast Asian film.” 

SALAMINDANAW ASIAN FILM FESTIVAL

“Lyrical, beautiful, enchanting.”

HAWAII INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL

“Sanif Olek’s Sayang Disayang (Singapore) …chooses woman as the core narrative. Interestingly... uses culinary metaphors to tell the story about families and its sorrows and wounds. The task of women ...goes beyond just serving food on the table, a common view of the obligation of women in Asia.”

Jogja-NETPAC ASIAN FILM FESTIVAL

10 years ago, Sayang Disayang opened nationally during National Day week at The Arts House after its World Premiere at the Salamindanaw Asian Film Festival, Philippines (Jury Prize - Best Asian Film). The film returns to the big screen in 2024 during National Day courtesy of The Asian Film Archive.

The idea for the film, originally titled Ramuan Rahasia, began in 2001. While a lot of films about food were made in China, South America, India, France, Spain… no one had done any film about food from the Nusantara - the collective lands of the Malay Archipelago. Thus began my adventure to explore the soul of Nusantara dishes. The sambal goreng struck me as the dish that embodies the Nusantara.

The indie route was not easy but I am glad I took this road. While many just talk about making a feature-length, only a handful walk the talk. It’s something they don’t teach in film schools. It’s not about the red carpets and awards. I learn about people - the doers, ones that stood by you and always have your back, including ones who questioned constantly yet stuck around until the film wrapped. There were also the fairweather ones and those who stayed just to see you fail. All in just one indie film set!

Singapore’s Official Selection to the 87th Oscars. Truly humbled and proud at the same time how this low-key, indie film has done over the years. 

Thank you for this journey, Sayang ❤️

Lessons from thespians

Occasionally I had the privilege to direct a dream cast. And then there are dream casts who are living legends - you know, the bigger-than-life ones that you used to only watch in black and white television and the kitchy eighties while growing up.

It was September 2015. I had the privilege to direct not one but TWO of these legendary thespians in the SAME scene. It seemed surreal. And it felt too brief.

It was too fun watching them perform that it can be impulsive to do the typical 360 degree coverage for the television editors but I refrained because it was unnecessary. I'm not sure if it was the ease of directing them or they were too good they need few or no directions. It was sheer pleasure to watch them perform.

JA Halim left us in 2019. Pon Bachik left us this week. Their work on stage and television screen has left an indelible mark on Singapore audiences and the arts scene.

I had the opportunity to work with Abang JA Halim on the long form drama series, Segaris Sinar in 2008. What he brought on set, was not about the acting school methodologies, but the discipline of collaboration with another actor, the script and original story concept. It’s also about giving the emerging director room to express his ideas, because not all Malay directors express ideas in Malay. Of adhering that when ideas collide, it’s all about the story and not about the ego.

It was my first time working with Mak Pon Bachik. She had such a gentle demeanour, but forceful presence on screen. I was so in awe of her method. Her motherly grace seemed like her challenge for me to work harder! 😆

Directing is not just about the shots imho, it is also about nuance and getting the best performances from your actors. To be the best you work with the best actors. For me, even though the meeting on set with the credible thespians Pon Bachik and JA Halim seem fleeting, I grew a lot as a director. I learnt more about performance, giving and reacting from these two than any film school textbooks can offer.

‎انا لله وانا اليه راجعون

Part 3: Singapore-Malay Bawean - deeds and attribution.

PART 3

Chillax in a 3-toner. Singapore Armed Forces Day; circa 1991.

Fast forward more than fifteen years after making the television documentary about the Bawean diaspora in Singapore, the mysteries of my childhood and the lessons learned from my cultural heritage came to a head. I had been feeling unwell for months. It started as a series of minor ailments that I dismissed as the usual stresses of modern life and work.

Then, I was gaining nominations and winning television awards. My films were being selected to screen at many film festivals on all five continents, winning awards at a handful of them. My debut feature film was officially selected to represent Singapore at the 87th Academy Awards in the Best Foreign Language category (now renamed International Feature Film).

In the euphoria of the moment, I strangely started losing weight. Several months later, my health deteriorated further. I began losing my appetite, skipping meals, and my face structure changed. I found myself regularly shifting to find the right angles when taking pictures to hide my thinning body. I developed arthritis and didn't sleep well, with the urge to pee every half hour. On top of that, I had deep headaches and migraines at night until morning. During shoots, I would get exhausted very easily, which in turn gave me more migraines from not having enough sleep. I got cold very easily, even in mild air-conditioning while in the office or studio, on the bus or train, and in the supermarket getting groceries. There was a point during filming when my health was getting worse right before hospitalization, I had to wear a thick hoodie over a down shell from Uniqlo over a long-sleeve, thermal t-shirt. I had to visit the toilet every half an hour during filming. During interviews in a studio for behind-the-scenes elements for a national agency, I was short on words as I was forgetting what I wanted to say. 

Perhaps my stint at the elite unit during National Service conditioned me with high threshold of pain.

During this difficult period, I was also filming a documentary series that took me to six countries in Asia. The constant travel and long hours took their toll during the intense three months of shooting and post-production. While dining in India - the land of spices and a thousand curries - it got depressing to watch hungry members of my production team savour the numerous curries and biryanis while I could only swallow one plain naan dipped in chicken curry. I had zero appetite. The sight of food made me nauseous. I was eating just for the carb and sugar. My lower legs were swollen with water retention. The last straw happened when I completely lost my train of thought during an interview with a profile from Malaysia in an episode of the same series. I was just going with rote questioning from the notes. At this period, I lost close to 20 kilograms. I was losing my mind. 

I am still thankful to my producer, the filming crew, and the post-production team for keeping it together with me during the documentary production. This is on set family - a dedicated team that truly believe in your work and only wants success for the project.

In early 2017, I was feeling very, very sick. I could not seem to function. I dragged myself downstairs to take a taxi to the hospital. Private hire apps were not yet a thing back then. I had only one intention and it was clear – to get to A&E at the hospital. Whatever happened next, I left my fate to Allah, I thought. During registration at the emergency unit, I was rambling incoherently in response to questions. The next moment, I found myself waking up inside the unit. I fell unconscious again to find myself waking up with needles and pipes attached to my body. 

I felt like I was floating, reminiscent of Major Motoko Kusanagi in the prostheses state in the anime, "Ghost in the Shell." I stayed in this state for one week. I spent my birthday in the hospital ward with a kind nurse who brought in a slice of cake. There was no birthday song as I ate the cake quietly.

The diagnosis was Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (SLE) or lupus. I was discharged nearly four weeks later. My body was responding well to therapy and medication. I started ultrarunning again five months later with my batchmates from First Company. I was also actively going to the gym as my body seemed to gain muscle mass very easily. Life seemed to return to normal. I was also happy to be on set for filming. But alas, the problem did not end there.

Around this time, I was filming a long-form drama series and a telemovie. Several individuals I had previously worked with on different productions were also involved in these productions. When production wrapped, my body spiralled into the same pain I had felt before my earlier hospitalization that year. Two months later, I was walking with crutches. The specialists at the hospital suggested that it was a result of side effects from the steroid prescription I was taking for the SLE. It caused the already brittle lower body bone densities to deteriorate further from running.

Deep down, Scully (of X-Files, the series) was adamant that it was just the damn side effects from Prednisolone. "You win some, you lose some," I thought. However, a chance conversation with a kind industry friend who showed considerable concern coaxed me to consult a wise person well-versed in entities of the sixth sense. It took much hesitation but I finally did when my condition went downhill.

What I heard from Wise Person shook me to my core - my pain was allegedly caused by disgruntled three persons from envy. They operated separately. Now I must add, I had not met Wise Person, nor did Wise Person know in detail about my work.

The first question asked: had my work been recognized on an international stage somewhere in 2014-15?

The second question asked: had I been involved in any major production/s recently where the three persons were directly attached? They were also linked to another major work I had been involved in before 2014-15.

Wise Person analysed that when I started work in the recent productions, the 3 persons observed I was doing well, got resentful at my health and subsequently attempted to break me. All they want was for me to literally lie in bed and rot, so to speak.

Finally, Wise Person gave me three random, yet very specific single names. I identified the alleged three individuals. Let's call them Labu 1-3.

Labu 1 promised to help with the film but pulled back last minute, only to agree later with an absurd offer. I decided his conditions was not worth a commitment. Labu 2 pulled back three weeks before production started with a preposterous excuse even after I handed them an advance that he requested. Labu 3, a veteran, badmouthed me within his own provincial circle while making a film that perhaps served his ego more than it served the community.

Wise Person advised the many tactics which a resentful person may act. I recall during production where the three of them were involved, Labu 1 curiously offered me a piece of banana during break fast. During the shoot, sample food packages were offered around on set to the cast and crew. I ordered one container of the food sample. I heard later that allegedly one cast member who bought a container of the food sample had her life in "disarray". Labu 3 was unusually overly friendly on set while he supplied the props for a funeral scene in the production. Labu 2? Well, I have yet to receive the money he owed me from the advance payment. I realised that it was unrealistic to cry over spilled milk. I have Halal-ed it.

Alas, Wise Person advised me to constantly be aware and present as Labu 1-3 may attempt to sneak in a pushback.

I do hope these persons - whoever they may be, wherever they are - find peace in their lives. 

For me, it took the hard way with three alleged Pumpkinheads and about $50,000 in hospital bills to realize that finding a true friend in the industry is probably wishful thinking. The industry is a circus full of clowns and acrobats with misplaced egos. Amongst alligators it is always prudent to tread water wisely.

The evil eye exists. It has a coward smile and deceitful generosity. I wish I could be in that long-ago conversation with my father and the Bawean elders again to talk about my experience. I now understand how judgment and scepticism should not be too dominant during such conversations.

Additionally and very importantly, as expressed by the soft-spoken Pesantren head in Bawean Island, the deeds of a person are his own and not reflective of the community to which he belongs.

My encounter with the unseen forces that had plagued me became a transformative experience. This experience brought me closer to my cultural roots and deepened my understanding of Bawean beliefs. It was a reminder that our heritage is a vital part of who we are, shaping our perspectives and guiding us through life's challenges. It also reinforced the notion that there are many layers to health and well-being, some of which are beyond the reach of modern science. The Bawean traditions that I had once taken for granted or half ignored are now a cherished part of my identity, providing a foundation of strength and wisdom.

Allah knows best.

END.

[Read PART 1, read PART 2]

Part 2: Singapore-Malay Bawean - self-actualisation.

PART 2

My older brothers, Ariff and Ismail, with uncles Cik Yusof and Cik At-at, who are of the same age as my elder brothers respectively. At Joon Tong Road, off Old Jurong Road; circa 1970s.

My family spent many weekends at either the paternal or maternal grandparent’s place. However the weekend before the beginning of school after a long semester break would be particularly special. For example, my father’s siblings would gather with their kids at his parent’s place at Teban. After Maghrib, we would have kenduri, or prayer feast, to celebrate the achievements of the previous year and welcome the new one. The eldest family member, my grand uncle, would recite verses from the Quran over a cup of water. This “blessed” cup would be passed around to the kids for good grades and overall performance in school, and to shield us from accidents and bad luck. 

Nonetheless with a reminder the ultimate blessing comes from Allah. We seek His grace.

On other days, such blessed water would be prepared for a family member starting a new job, going for an interview, enlisting in National Service, after a job promotion, getting married, traveling overseas, or moving to a new house. Occasionally, there was blessed water for the sick or for those recovering from severe or chronic illness.

My family was also present for my uncles’ and aunties’ khatam Quran milestones. My older siblings had their khatams too. During childhood, it was common for the head of the household, usually the father, to teach the children basic Iqra, often in the “Bawean style.” My father’s flawless recitation of Quran was captivating. During Ramadan, my grandparent’s living room hosted congregational Tarawih prayers after breaking fast without fail, although my cousins and I would be excused. We watched from the sidelines, often bored by the second rakaath, or prayer cycle, and played our own games in the background.

For early Baweans being a perantau or traveller meant that every chance to connect with a fellow Bawean overseas was a chance to rekindle relationships. Thus everyone was family. At the turn of the century, the Ponthuk that dotted many parts of urban Singapore was the point of call for most single travellers who left Bawean. Each Pondok was linked to a respective province at home. Upon arrival a Pak Lurah, the head of the Pondok, welcomed the traveller. He subsequently took care of the new arrival’s welfare until he settled down with a job or ready to move out. This tradition of kinship and hospitality maintained even when the Pondok ceased to exist. Maintaining family foundations and practising kindness were also part of being good Sunni Muslims.

On very rare occasions when I tagged along my father to visit my elderly grand relatives, the conversations trailed to unwell acquaintances or victims of suspected hexes. The language was coded and matter-of-fact, making it sound like something that happened in Bawean Island to my untrained child ears. Upon reflection, I noticed my father never brought my older brothers to such meetings, perhaps because the unspoken rule was to be respectful and not ask too many questions. Perhaps my father liked to take me because I was well behaved and not being disruptive when the elders spoke. Or perhaps it could also be I did not have any homework to complete.

I would hear about entities, spells, special compounds, significant energies, and anecdotes warning children like me not to trivialize Taoist roadside offerings during the Hungry Ghost Festival or to maintain integrity in daily dealings because karma is real. 

This early exposure to such conversations ingrained in me a scientific approach to the entities of the sixth sense in Bawean lore. Having insider knowledge allows one to form effective perspectives and drive positive change naturally embedded in the culture.

My father emphasised secular education for his children as a means to move up beyond the blue-collar system that most of the Baweans came from. Thus, even when I was attending Anglo-Chinese School, a Methodist mission school, I was concurrently attending Madrasah classes in the morning or afternoon, depending on my secular school sessions. I was listening to the ustazah talked on fitrah in the morning and then listened as the pastor led the hymns in the afternoon. As I moved on to junior college, I met more Malay friends of other ethnicities besides Baweanese, such as the Javanese and Bugis. It was also here that I discovered the stereotypes leading to the discrimination the early Baweans faced within the Malay community. 

The most common was how the Baweans were deemed to be unchaste due to stereotypes of the community’s attribution to black magic and the community’s love of the bloody tuna, no pun intended. Thus it was impossible for a Bawean boy or girl to marry a Javanese, for example, because of the prejudice that sprang from these stereotypes.

In 1997, I was working on a television documentary about the Bawean diaspora in Singapore. During the filming trip to Bawean Island, we stayed in a Pesantren. Guarded by the spoken and unspoken rules of the Baweanese, I confronted my heritage full-on. There were many questions, and being on the island where my grandparents came from was the best way to confront them.

Observing the culturally conservative and very religious Bawean islanders, I asked the head of the Pesantren, a soft-spoken Haji, if it was true that Baweans practiced black magic, given the community’s notorious reputation in Singapore. Silence. It was as if the Haji was trying to figure out the context of my question. His body language at that point reminded me of the elders who spoke to my father when someone asked an awkward question.

He calmly explained that one cannot blame the people, the family, the community, beliefs or religion for the deed of the individual. God is almighty, He provides guidance, and fate brings us where we are. At that point I could not seem to comprehend his loaded and complex response. Out of respect to the host, I left it as that.

Back in Singapore, while filming the documentary, I met an elderly Bawean with a road named after him at Caldecott Hill. He was rumoured to be a spiritual advisor to a very prominent figure in Singapore. A first-generation migrant, slight in size and non-assuming, he had a special gaze typical of learned elderly Baweans. It was the same gaze of the elders that spoke to my father when I was little. It is complex to describe the gaze but one that I can identify when I see it. I asked him the same question about black magic. He simply smiled and did not respond.

I remember when I was little, when an elderly Bawean responded with no response, that was a code to mean you are being “kurang ajar”. In Phebien, being confrontational was seen as rudeness of a higher degree. In Bawean speak, kurang ajar means your parents, grandparents, and guardians failed to teach you well in graces and manners. It was like having your whole family clan spat at. At the end of the interview, I took the man’s hand and kissed it as a sign of quiet apology.

Being exposed to the mechanics of the sixth sense and its entities as a child, and confronting these experiences professionally while making the documentary about Bawean diaspora in Singapore, led me to embrace my history. Dwelling on something unfairly attributed to my heritage and attempting to find reason in its mechanisms meant I had to make peace with it. There are good people and some, on the contrary, just as there is good and bad in everyone, every culture, every community. Eventually, what brings closure is acknowledging and making peace with it.

"..Yeah, you better be careful, or I will send the spirits down your way to kick your a**!"

I used to joke in response to every unfair snide remark about Baweans and the sixth sense. 

Little did I know.

[Read PART 1, read PART 3]

Part 1: Singapore-Malay Bawean - growing up within.

PART 1

My elder brother, Ismail, and I. At Joon Tong Road, off Old Jurong Road; circa 1970s.

I never thought a longstanding, unfair attribution to the Phebien, aka my Bawean culture - one that the elders dispute and I grew up underestimating - would rear its sinister head. Notwithstanding, I acknowledged the existence of the sixth sense and all matters in that world, my day-to-day life had never been hampered or tinged by these things.

I was more of a Scully than a Mulder from the science fiction series, The X-Files. However, something manifested in my life and aggravated my health in late 2016, enlarging my perspective. It resulted in me being hospitalized for close to a month and requiring therapy which I am still undergoing to this day.

This is a 3-part blog on my journey navigating the dark experience.

Let me begin. I was born and raised in a traditional Singapore-Malay Baweanese household. My maternal and paternal grandparents left Bawean Island (off the coast of Surabaya, Indonesia) after World War II. They arrived in colonial Singapore and eventually took residence here. That makes me a third-generation Singaporean. I served my National Service in one of the three elite units of the Singapore Armed Forces as a pioneering Malay-Singaporean enlistee. I hold the Singapore pink identity card, sealing my allegiance to Singapore. I even made a short film, The Usual, commissioned by MINDEF, based on my years growing up at Jalan Majapahit, off Old Jurong Road.

I think I had a remarkably interesting childhood. Many would agree and even see it as challenging and uniquely formative.

I spent much of my early years with my maternal grandmother in a quaint Baweanese community at Joon Tong Road, off Old Jurong Road, in the early 70s. My parents dropped me off in the morning before work and picked me up in the evening when they returned. On weekends and occasionally during the weekdays, when my parents were too tired, I would sleep over at my grandparent’s. These stays were most enjoyable because I immersed myself in a distinct cultural space. My grandparents and the neighbours still held much of the traditional customs and ways they brought from Bawean.

Two aspects of Baweanese culture have fascinated me, even today - the spoken language and its cultural beliefs and practices.

I inevitably picked up the Baweanese language at a very young age. At my grandparent’s house, conversations were predominantly in Baweanese. Even my secular school-going aunties and uncles spoke Bawean 90% of the time, among themselves at home and with neighbours. I remember, as a toddler, perhaps when I was three years old, I could already understand the conversations between my mother and grandmother as they shared stories about my day’s mischief, thinking I wouldn’t understand. Later, I could comprehend the refined conversations between my grandfather and grandmother - they spoke in a higher level of Bawean language. As I picked up its intonations and nuances, I also absorbed the non-verbal aspects of Baweanese culture.

These days, I do not speak the language. However, when I hear a phrase being spoken or Malay spoken with a Bawean accent, it takes me back to those sublime moments when I lay on a traditional Bawean handwoven mat made from palm fronds on my grandmother’s outdoor verandah. It evokes the wonderfully familiar comfort of drinking from my milk bottle and listening quietly while Nenek Aishah exchanged quaint stories about Bawean life before migration to Singapore with the neighbours.

When it comes to culture and tradition, the Bawean community I grew up in loved a kenduri and would find any excuse to celebrate family milestones. My father often took my brothers and me to kenduris on weekends. A kenduri is a feast where the community comes together. The male family members, along with neighbors, would sit in a circle (depending on the space) and recite verses from the Quran as a form of thanksgiving, followed by a feast. Before the kenduri itself, families and neighbours would gather voluntarily to prepare dishes, the feasting space, and other necessities in a practice called gotong royong. Food was served in a dulang, or tray, and immediate families, distant cousins, in-laws, and friends ate communally in groups of 3-5, depending on the size of the dulang. It was fun to see so many people in one space, as I made many new friends with “cousins” or young “uncles/aunties.” It was not uncommon to find an aunt or uncle the same age as your sibling. I have two uncles who are the same age as my older brothers.

After feasting, the men would sit together through the night, sharing stories. Normally, I would be too tired to stay awake, falling asleep on my father’s lap while he continued talking with elderly male relatives or neighbours.

Reflecting now on how early Baweans loved to commemorate milestones and used this as an excuse to gather, I realize it was their way to maintain close family ties. The elders always emphasized keeping immediate relatives close, as they are the ones we can depend to carry us into the grave when we die because only family can ensure that we have proper Muslim burial.

For them, these gatherings were a way to keep up with one another before the telephone and internet era.

[Read PART 2, read PART 3]

For all the handymen about the house.

My father was a handyman. 

At work he was known professionally as an Electrician, but he was an artisan. I remember vividly how he was always up on something around the house - rewiring at a corner of the flat that needed extra socket, extending a cable or two so that there won't be any power surge because too many appliances were sharing a single power point and minor plumbing from a leaking pipe. Or simply replacing the 3000K bulb in our rooms to a 6000K one because warm lights somehow made us siblings sleepy to study at night. Or random minor repairs to the family radio or television sets when the sound or pictures got wonky.

He would have on, one half of a pair of rubber sandals or thongs as he craned his neck at the ceiling to do the wiring. Meanwhile I would be craning my neck trying to figure out the significance of the black white green and red cables. l often wondered why my father's nimble fingers placed these cables in a certain way.

Between cutting cables, he would glance down with papa eagle eyes; Don't Touch, Stay Away! He was also skilled at turning metals into usable kettles, ladles, pots and pans.

I must have been 5-6 years old. When I started school I lost interest in what my father did around the house. He would instruct me to study, not waste time watching him cut cables. These days when faced with a hardware issue, I wish I had picked up some handyman skills from my father.

Nevertheless, despite my rather suaku-ness in handyman matters, one of the greatest takeaways I've learned from watching my father, was to be resourceful. By extension to never say no when he received a call for help from a neighbour or a neighbour's neighbour.

There was no camera phone to record a wiring or plumbing issue then for pre-check before attending to a problem. My father trusted the process and what he was capable of doing to help others. Every issue could be addressed.

"Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime", they say. It is rather easy to just call a handyman to see through those minor hardware issues that may pop up once in a while in the house. Yet the satisfaction of being able to do something by myself would have been immensely empowering.

Sometimes during appointments I question why I need to be present when the situation suggests otherwise. But if my presence in a small way aspires others in their process, I am thankful.

To all fathers and father figures, continue doing you. You may not be the ideal father figure or man about the house but know that somewhere, a little boy is watching you - in awe of what you are capable of doing.

Happy Father's Day 2024.

What constitutes a "kiddy show" these days?

Haikal Nak Jadi Cef

More than 15 years ago, I decided to focus on the “heavier” and perhaps, the grittier side of social commentary in my work.

On documentaries and narrative dramas in tv and films, I want to explore these topics with specific visual artistic aesthetics - not just the cookie-cutter, straightforward coverage.

I call it explorative (you may call it “experimental”) but hey, you need to be experimental to find your own voice as a filmmaker. You don’t grow if you do the same things year in year out.

I discover I can actually approach “difficult” social commentary through layers of sound, visual and language that the visual medium affords. These 3 elements combined, create a tapestry that articulates the human condition. They say good scriptwriting is when there is less dialogue and well-written screen direction, among other things.

However the 3 elements need not be the star all at once, because human emotions are like that. More can be told when at least 2 of these 3 are selectively used to bring forward the essence of the scene or conversation.

The visual language is empowering, because you can show things without showing things. Less is more. No need to dumb it down. You just have to think with more sophistication (and work with the best language writers).

But, importantly through these exploration, one thing remains - you make tv programmes and films for the audience - your biggest customer. You make these things not for your Self.

When the chance to do Haikal Nak Jadi Cef arised, I grabbed the opportunity. Because it is something of a throwback to the more “fun” things that I have done previously.

Not many may know this but I did 5 series of hybrid food / cooking/ cuisine programmes previously. I did several fun travel and cultural series around Asia. I did “serious” current affairs too.

Haikal Nak Jadi Cef is a mix of all these previous creative explorations and influences.

I would not call it a “kid’s show” because when you watch it, you may discover something else that adults may need to explain to the kids.

Watch it and let me know.

The 13-episode series debuts on 5 April, Friday 8:30pm. Malay with English subtitles.

So is it really a “kids show” when its on the prime time belt, immediately after the national news? (It is officially an info-ed programme).

Directed by yours truly. #sanifdirects

Catch it on the mewatch streaming platform and Suria channel. English subtitled.

Series synopsis

Haikal Nak Jadi Cef is a whimsical coming-of-age series told from the eyes of Haikal, a precocious 11 year old boy who lost his mother recently from an illness. Haikal still misses Mama Haikal’s cooking. Haikal food adventure begins as he tries to replicate his mother’s favourite dishes - from memory. Haikal’s quest is accompanied by an erratic sidekick, Zaidi, and a world surrounded by offbeat characters that reflect the different spectrum of adulthood such as Raian, Cikgu Alin, Mariah, Rahmat, Uncle Ravi and Chef Mel. While on a mission to accomplish something for himself in the most charming yet imaginatively complicated way possible, Haikal discovers that the journey to uncovering Mama Haikal’s secret recipe is a kaleidoscope of the unpredictable and colourful throwback to life itself.

Authenticity

What is Authenticity in an age when making films is about meeting national KPIs & maximizing returns? Is one Singapore story less important because it doesn’t qualify into a prestigious film festival or doesn’t get made at all?

I was asked similar questions during PENDEKAR post-screening attended by about 100 very enthusiastic film audience. It was overwhelming because PENDEKAR was my Singaporean-Malay-Bawean ode to Nusantara, the broad Malay Archipelago in Southeast Asia. It was also overwhelming to discuss authenticity because where I come from, Malay is the national language, English is the national language of communication & Singapore-Malays make up 13.5% of her residents.

Each of my films reflect my evolution in social awareness as a Singaporean filmmaker. It’s mostly about deconstructing my identity and the mainstream Malay texts.

PENDEKAR is an agency to discover myself in relation to my fellow Singaporeans - both Malays & non-Malays. Most importantly, how this Malay sees himself in relation to ‘rakan serumpun’ in Indonesia, Malaysia and Brunei where Malay dominates the respective national identity.

Am I less a Malay because I don’t speak much of the language or don’t subscribe to the accepted Malay norms? Is there an absolute Malay or Malayness - even in a Malay dominant country?

I deliberately spoke Melayu during the session to respect the film festival. It’s a privilege to be in Jambi - literally the heart of Nusantara Malay Archipelago. It’s an opportunity to discover how much of a Malay I am. I actually threw a question to the audience to ask how “Malay” is PENDEKAR with regard to its visual cues and mise-en-scene 😅

Terimakasih kepada semua komunitas sineas yang hadir, harap senang dengar aku bicara tentang PENDEKAR dalam bahasa filem yang tidak pernah aku lakukan sebelum ini 🙏🏽