PART 1
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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.
