LWE Chapter 16: Sibling Birthdays - September

It was 1988. I had deferred my course in Australia and had already been in KL a few weeks to spend time with family while I continued to process Dad’s passing a few months earlier. My friend Andrew suggested that I could get some freelance work in Singapore through his contacts. Andrew and I both used Mac computers, a skill that was rare in those days, and Andrew reckoned I could use his Mac SE to do some stuff.

So I went down to Singapore to explore this opportunity. And I did actually find some work with a PR firm and a typesetting company (remember them?) and while working on the projects they gave me, I stayed with Andrew, Gan and Irene, all old schoolmates who were sharing a flat.

I would meet up with Tony every now and then and during one of those meetups, he asked about my plans and if I needed anything. I explained what I was doing, and talking through it made us realise I might have a slight cash flow issue so when he asked, I said yeah, 50 bucks would be good and would tide me over until I got some payments in.

He said he would sort that out but ‘give me a couple of days to cash a cheque’.

Many years later, we were chatting about some stuff and Tony made a comment about how tight he used to be in those days what with buying a flat and all that. And it was then I suddenly remembered that ‘give me a few days’ comment and the realisation dawned on me that he must have been quite tight indeed to need a few days to sort out $50. But he never said no, and readily set me up a couple of days later. He never hesitated to give, something he’s not stopped until now.

Chick Magnet. But not who you think it is.

When I was much younger, the sibling I spent the most time with was Tony. I never thought much about it in those days. I knew all his school friends, especially his closest friend, Hillary. ‘Hill’ who’d transferred from La Salle Klang to La Salle PJ for his 6th Form years, became a regular fixture in our house as they studied for their HSC.

Mum would sometimes try to open the door to Tony’s room early in the morning to wake him up for school or whatever, only to find the door blocked by the feet of a sleeping Hillary Fredericks who’d simply stayed overnight and slept on the floor.

Tony supporting me in everything I did... while keeping an eye on the chicks. This was taken in 1967 in Taman Jaya and sitting on the see-saw with me was my eldest sister Margaret. 

That's me with Tony. Big and Strong he said...

Tony is standing in between Dad and Margaret in the back row. Tony would soon shoot up to 6' and overshadow Dad.

For reasons I did not know or care about then, Tony and Hill would often bring 7-year old me along wherever they went. I think sometimes even they were not sure where they were going because I have a very clear recollection of once being in the back seat of Hill’s mini as he and Tony got to the Section 16 roundabout (which no longer exists) with no clear idea of where they wanted to go next so while trying to decide, Hill simply went around and around the roundabout. 7 times. I counted.

Tony would sometimes take me out on his own as well, and I guess that was partly so Mum wouldn’t have to worry about me. Maybe she should have because on one of those drives Tony was not 400 metres from our house, going around a corner when a guy on a scooter turned pit unexpectedly with the result Tony had his first crash, knocking the poor fellow into the drain.

Another time, I was kicking up a big fuss about a movie - was it Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? - as I knew it would have a preview and I wanted to watch it. Mum said I could wait until the movie had its actual airing a little later (this was the practice in those days) but I of course could not wait and kicked up a fuss ‘What if it never gets shown again?’ so in exasperation, she told Tony to bring me to the cinema. Which he did seemingly without complaint.

Some years later, I found out another reason why I was always tagging along with Tony and Hill. We were going through some old stuff left behind in the family home and came across a large birthday card Tony’s 6th Form schoolmates had made for him.

The card opened out to a page full of goodwill and congratulatory messages and in amongst them was a message from one of the girls. ‘Bring your cute little brother along again next time…’
It turns out I was being used as a chick magnet… I still feel so used… ha ha

Tony being stylish in a much-too-small jacket, standing next to a much more debonair long-time friend, Patrick Augustin. I know I have a few pictures of Tony with Hill, but could not find one.

Tony did his 6th Form in the early 70s and seemed to have such an exciting life. Besides being able to drive Dad’s car and take us around, he was always surrounded by friends, some of whom I know he keeps in touch with until today. And he was also always getting up to all sorts of mischief and nonsense.

The Trouble Magnet

In his teenage years, he may have attracted many friends - and with my help, some girls as well -  but when he was very young, Tony attracted trouble instead. Once, running around our garden, either chasing or being chased by our neighbour Sunny, he took a tumble and broke a flower pot. With his forehead. A deep gash saw my Mum rushing him to the hospital where the doctor announced he needed to put in a few stitches. A frightened young Tony grabbed Mum’s hand and said ‘Mummy, don’t look away - look at me, OK?’ So Mum did. She saw the needle go in once. Twice. On the third insertion, blackness descended and poor Mum fainted. So the doctor had suddenly to deal with both a frightened bleeding young boy as well as his unconscious mother.

Another time, he was cycling furiously down the road in front of our house one day, racing some of the neighbours. He was in the lead and at one point excitedly looked back to see how far ahead he was… and immediately crashed straight into a neighbour’s rubbish bin, upsetting it, and landing up in the drain with the bin and its contents all over him. The neighbour’s gardener came rushing over to extricate him. The neighbour was none other than Kee Huat of Kee Huat Radio fame and this is one fantastic fact we have to cherish...

Tony trying out my Foldie and not crashing.

In school, Tony must have maintained that habit of making a nuisance of himself and getting up to no good. Mum once said that Brother Lawrence, the headmaster of La Salle and a family friend, had a word with her and warned her that Tony needed to focus and if he continued to hang around with that Fredericks boy, he would surely do badly in his HSC exams.
I think he didn’t do too badly because after his HSC, Tony went to London where he did his articleship as he worked towards his Chartered Accountancy qualifications.

On one of the first days after I got to upper secondary in 1980, many years after Tony had left the school, I walked into the staff room to speak with my class teacher, Puan Basariah. Sitting opposite her was this buck-toothed Chinese lady teacher with horn rimmed glasses. She stared at me for a full minute then interrupted my dealings with Pn Basariah and interjected with ‘Here, boy… are you a Cheong?’
A little astonished, I replied ‘Yes I am.’
To which she asked ‘Are you Anthony Cheong’s brother?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Are you the last of your brothers?’
‘Yes, I am’ I said for the third time. and with a hugely exaggerated sweep of her right arm across her forehead she exclaimed ‘Well, thank God for THAT!’

That lady was Mrs Wong Boon Chong and she had taught Tony, and would later teach me too, much to her dismay. The story goes that one day in her class, Tony, leaning back in his chair at the back of the classroom (where a few of us Cheongs liked to place ourselves), called out loudly to her as she taught ‘What did you say?’
Mrs Wong replied ‘I said “Shirt”. S-H-I-R-T, Shirt’
To which Tony responded with ‘Ohhhh I thought you’d said Shit. S-H-I-T, Shit…’ Unbeknownst to him, Bro Lawrence had sneaked into the classroom via the back door and was standing directly behind him, a wooden ruler in his hand. The moment Tony finished that last sentence, WHACK! that ruler smacked down hard on Tony’s head…

I had a lot to live up to in school, though truth be told, for all the mischief he got up to, all the teachers who’d known him were actually rather fond of him. He was especially close to Mr Subra, chemistry teacher and the head of the prefectorial board in which Tony had served. He had in fact run for Head Prefect and I remember a bunch of them… OK maybe Hill and him… making elections posters. Out of a field of 4, I think Tony finished third behind eventual winner Raymond Szetho and another friend Philip Ho. See? I told you I knew his friends.

Warwick Road, London, calling... errr... writing.

During his years in the UK, he was a much better correspondent than either Gerard or Joe were and we would regularly receive multi-page letters written on onion skin paper, sent from Warwick Rd, London SW5.

I used to read these and eventually Tony and I corresponded too. He was away quite a few years before his one holiday home.  On that trip, he found that we both shared an interest in photography and when he returned to London, he subscribed to a photography magazine and had the issues sent on to me. I learned a lot from those magazines and they were instrumental in giving me a good foundation in photography. See what I mean about giving?

Tony was eventually joined in London by Francis who also lived with him, until Tony qualified and returned, to work for Ernst & Whinney (now Ernst & Young) in Singapore.

This was in 1982 as I was preparing for my SPM exams. We still wrote, amazingly, as calls were expensive then. In one letter in May 1982, he urged me to do better than my trial exam results were suggesting I would do. ‘Even I didn’t do so badly in Form 5’ he said. As incentive to do better, he promised to subsidise the cost of a camera flash unit for me, if I got at least a credit in Malay (BM). My trial results were not encouraging in that respect, shall we say.

When the SPM results came out, I was one of the 3 best in La Salle for BM, scoring the highest grade the examiners saw fit to award a student of La Salle PJ, a C3, just below the Distinction grades of A1 and A2.

Tony, besides being someone I spent a lot of time with, was also sometimes my go-to guy if I needed to find out something. He always struck me as being knowledgeable and wise. I would even sometimes find myself using him as a benchmark when trying to do something new. And so I’d ask him everything from working out how to pronounce ‘resource’ (is it re-source or re-zaws?), to stuff about cars, or even emulating his sometimes sarcastic sense of humour. I looked up to him and tried to model myself a little after him in many ways.

Only Tony could pull this off...making three nephews kowtow for Angpows during Chinese New Year.

That would seem strange as Tony and I are very different people, generally. We do share a wicked Cheong sense of humour and we both reach out to help people, albeit in different ways according to our own resources - or re-zawses… But essentially we are quite different characters. I am flighty and a little reactionary, Tony is more measured and considerate. I can sometimes be harsh on people who don’t do the right thing, Tony is altogether more forgiving. I must admit that I have gratefully been on the receiving end of his generosity and non-judgement.

Tony’s birthday is on the 22nd of September and this was the date of my first wedding too. Tony and Seow Miang were there for the wedding and he was also a natural choice as godfather to my first son, Mark, 2 years after that.

10 years later, as I celebrated a decade of marriage with a divorce, Tony was there too. It was a very tough time for me as I was dealing with the tail end of the Asian Financial Crisis hitting us hard (I had to downsize the office and staffing) as well at that time. Kind of a double whammy.

Tony took his godfather role rather seriously and would take 8-year old Mark out every other week or so. On one of those outings, he asked Mark what he would like to eat and Mark said Pizza Hut. So off they went. They returned later and Tony, still wide-eyed with astonishment, told me Mark had polished off a whole pizza AND a lasagna all on his own…

I'll always be grateful for the effort made by Tony in keeping in touch with my kids.

Mopping around Boxes and Noodles by Cab.

In 2002, I had begun to move away from the Brand Communications work I had been doing and set up my own home office to do various choice projects and explore new things. I closed my regular office and with the divorce finalised, also finally moved some furniture from the jointly-owned flat to my new home in Siglap. The move was tiring. I had to sort out furniture and paraphernalia from both the office as well as flat, and ever the emotional one, was also struggling to deal with the changes in my life.

Tony rang one day and asked how things were. I told him the house was dusty and boxes were still piled up in the living room downstairs. He said he would come over to mop. I said it was pointless as it would get dusty again and anyway I could just continue to wear shoes downstairs, but he insisted and turned up the next day.

And we swept and mopped around the boxes. And it did make a difference. I could unpack in comfort and that was the day my new house began to be my home.

One event that sticks in my memory from around this time is how, after also disposing of my car and trying to make do without one for a few months, I got a bit worn out and fell ill a few times. I had known my fitness was deteriorating and in an attempt to keep active, both for my fitness as well as to stave off the effects of my Ankylosing Spondylitis, I had bought an Elliptical - a kind of a treadmill-cum-stairmaster. I was putting in some regular time on that and found out that before you get fitter, you will probably tire yourself out first. Which I did. All the walking and rushing about as well as the exercise had worn me out and I promptly fell ill a couple of times. Quite seriously too. On one occasion I even needed to get my doctor to come on a housecall.

It was one day during that bout that Tony rang - as he regularly did - to find out how things were. I found to my surprise that I was close to tears when I told him I was I was very ill again and could hardly get out. I hadn’t realised how frustrated I was until he called. He asked if I had anything for dinner and when I said not much, he said he was busy at work but he’d take care of that and buy me some soupy noodles and bring them over later.

As things turned out, Tony didn’t make it over. But the noodles did. Delivered by a very concerned taxi driver who made sure I got the noodles OK. Tony had booked a cab to send me the noodles he’d promised when he realised he was going to be late at work.

I took the packet from the taxi driver and got back in the house then almost burst into tears again. I was touched then, and recounting this story again after so many years, I am still touched by his kindness and his reaching out. As he always has.

Mei and I were in JB and Tony came over to meet us and Francis for lunch.

Tony examining his leech bites on our trip to Endau in 1998.

There are countless other instances when Tony’s generosity was in evidence. Besides being generous though, what I always found most admirable is how he combines that with an acceptance and non-judgement, offering advice and asking questions in the best mentoring and coaching tradition.
I think the best friends are those who make themselves available, who support you whether you’re up or down, and who don’t judge you on the choices you make but instead help you hone your ideas and refine your decisions so you can be as good as you can. You know you can always rely on them and you know too that you would readily do the same in return.

In this sense, I would think that my 3rd Brother is one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

Happy 65th birthday, Tony.

The Northern Chronicles Chapter 2

I’ve been in Penang a few months now and am rapidly settling into life here. The Tank with her Selangor number plates maintains a visible clue as to my identity as does my inability to converse in Penang Hokkien, but I have generally been taken in rather than taken advantage of when buying stuff or ordering things for the new cafe we’re setting up. Overall it’s been really quite good.

How good? Well, for starters, I’m typing this in a pub a few minutes drive down the road from where I live. Bailey’s is a little place that serves good Kilkenny which, though a very nice beer, for some reason makes me sleepy. I do enjoy it though. Bailey’s also has live football on TV and just the sort of atmosphere I like. In many ways it reminds me of Rennie’s when I used to live in PJ and The Yard when I was in Singapore. Both neighbourhood pubs populated by regulars and managed by a barkeep who knew how to make you feel welcome, when to engage you and when to leave you to your thoughts . Yes, it’s good here…


Let me list, in no particular order, some of the other good things here and why I’ve taken to Penang in such a big way.

Friendships

I’ve established some really good friendships in the last year and sometimes it feels like Ive been here decades rather than just months. The people I’ve met have embraced me and taken me into their fold almost like I were a long-lost cousin returned home, or a childhood friend come back to the hometown after years abroad. Perhaps I should not compare, and I concede I made some good friends in Singapore in the 25 years there, but there’s something touching and gratifying in the number, quality and depth of the relationships I’ve made in just the last 12 months.

OK so they can be a little silly, but they're good people to have around.

My new friends here have accepted me in a way and at a depth few, if any, of my Singaporean friends have achieved. And hey, I am one who works at friendships. I think this speaks volumes of the kind of people Penangites are. They may have a reputation for being Kiam Siap* but what I have found is a generosity of spirit that is touching and endearing.

Driving

Yes, Penang drivers are among the craziest in Malaysia. But, short of having an accident, they’re also among the most forgiving. Yes, they’ll create 5 lanes when there are really only three, and yes, they’ll cut you up on the left and swing in from the right, but when you need to get somewhere you’re not quite in the correct lane to get to, they’ll let you switch lanes. No fuss, no horning, no agro. It just works. I find my journeys in The Tank are usually stress-free and quite calm ones. In the last few years in Singapore, I’d gotten quite cranky every time I drove. Now, 800 km up north, I find I’m almost always quite the opposite. What is, simply is and I have little desire to thump another driver on the head for being such a (perceived) prick…

Scenery

Penang isn’t very large but has amazing geographical and societal variety. There really is a little for everyone. There’s the heritage area, the shopping centres, marinas and beaches, hills galore, more hills, and then even more hills!, a national park, plenty of hiking and mountain biking trails, plantations and paddy fields, orchards and waterfalls, fishing villages and homestays… I love drawing the living room curtains and sliding open the living room balcony doors every morning and taking in fresh air and the view of the often-cloud-draped hills nearby. And cycling around where I shall soon be working, Balik Pulau, brings me close to padi fields, the seaside, fishing villages, kampungs and more.

I love seeing this view every time I draw the living room curtains.

Agression. Or the lack thereof.

I always thought Hokkien was a rather rough-sounding dialect. Then I heard Penang Hokkien. Less authentic and original than the southern counterpart which I have become used to hearing, it is also a softer-toned language with more rounded sounds. As an example, ‘eat rice’ in southern Hokkien is Chiak Png - the ‘Png’ sound in particular being a hard, sudden stop with the feel and weight of a command - to me anyway. The Penang equivalent is Chiak Poi, which is altogether softer and gentler and carries an air of invitation and grace. I’m very used to not understanding conversations that go on around me. 25 years of being surrounded by Hokkien and Mandarin conversation, and not being party or enlightened eavesdropper to either has made me more aware of tone rather than words.

The same applies to Penang in many ways too but the difference here is that I find sounds of conversations here gentler and less seemingly confrontational or agressive. Penang Hokkien is partly responsible, but so too, I think, is how Penangites generally carry and conduct themselves. The pace is slower of course (except the mad motorcyclists) but it’s also how social etiquette is different. People are less afraid to make eye contact and to acknowledge each other. Sitting in a coffeeshop, strangers are generally more willing to smile or at least nod at each other. It’s a refreshing change I’m enjoying greatly.

Cycling

I don’t actually cycle as much as I would like to, but I must say I feel safer cycling around Penang - even with the mad drivers and bikers here - than I have ever felt in Singapore. There are cycling lanes, dedicated cycling lanes and trails everywhere which are great fun to ride on. I no longer have a usable mountain bike and running around on skinny 28mm tyres on my current bike means sandy or gravelly trails are a little nerve-wracking, but I still find that the diverse scenery and the friendiness of people in general make for a great cycling experience. My fitness has tapered off so much in the few years since my Celebrate Malaysia ride that I am not really capable yet, but I intend to be fit enough soon, to tackle a round-island ride. Soon… Meanwhile I happily ride 25-35 kms around the Balik Pulau area, discovering new trails and villages and more.

So we hammed it up a bit, but isn't it nice to cycle past padi fields?

Food

Must I even elaborate? Lonely Planet voted Penang top street-food destination in the world for 2014. Enough said.

Street Art

Must I even elaborate? When Penang began seriously gaining international attention these last few eyars, Ipoh, Johor Bahru and even SIngapore began to try and emulate the street art culture of Penang. JB had a serious faux pas with this when Ernest Zacharevic’s Legoman Mugging piece was not appreciated and was whitewashed. Singapore has her own issues with legislation and needing everything to be registered and allowed and so on. Penang, meanwhile, just quietly goes on being wonderfully creative. I mentioned to a few Singaporean friends that the infamous SKLo, the young Singaporean artist who pasted humourous stickers on pedestrian crossing buttons and who got eventually done for vandalism, would have been right at home in Penang. One of them opined that in Penang, she would have been ordinary. And I think that sums it all up really. Penang is a widly creative place where thinking artistically and creatively is the norm.

And this brings me to an idea I have expressed a number of times recently - that the truly great thing about Penang is its self-confidence. This is a city/state with a history it is not embarrassed about. A place that instinctively knows and understands at a very deep level who and what it is. And where it’s headed. One that has a clear picture of what it represents and what it stands for.

For me, someone moving back after 25 years away and dealing with so many uncertainties and variables as I reestablish myself, building on a solid foundation like I find in Penang sure feels darned good.

Some friendships are best kept distant

Call me naive, but I have only recently learnt that there are some friendships which work best when you don’t see each other that often.

I have a smallish circle of friends, preferring close friends rather than many friends. In part this is due to circumstance - having studied and lived abroad at key times of my life means I don’t have the advantage of being close geographically to my alma maters and, thus, the alumni and the network that accords.

I do, however, also naturally prefer close rather than superficial relationships and if there is one regret I have when it comes to friends is that I have lost touch with one or two very good friends with whom I shared the  experiences of some of my crucial growing years.

That regret is balanced out by the warm, accepting, unconditional and at times intense friendships with a select few with whom I’ve spent long hours, days, weeks together, sharing meals, work and in some cases, homes, with.

So it’s taken me awhile to understand what I think many people instinctively know and that this doesn’t always work. My natural sledgehammer approach to life, where I insist on banging things into the shape I want them to be, has once again caused me to have a protracted learning curve in this instance.

But like all things else, it is a valuable lesson. I have begun to understand that there are some friends who will drift into your life every other year or so, cause a stir, then meld back into the mists of time only to reappear again some years later. And I now see that this is actually a healthy thing and it’s just one more life-lesson I am grateful for the opportunity to have learnt through experience.

Now if only someone could link me up again with my erstwhile best-buddy from Secondary School days, Ng Kien Hoon. Last I found he worked with Pinsent Masons in Hong Kong and I think he was also with Project Orbis. Anyone have any clues?