My Wife Turns 72

As we sat at the dining table of the restaurant to celebrate my wife’s 72nd birthday, I was reminded that this is no ordinary milestone. Twelve years ago, she celebrated her 60th birthday surrounded by family and relatives in Western Australia (Read here). That gathering marked the completion of one full life cycle in Chinese tradition. This time, however, the celebration was simple - just the two of us sharing the moment together.

Now, reaching 72 means she has gone even further, completing six full cycles of the zodiac. This is regarded as a rare blessing, a gift of longevity, and a testimony to a life well lived. 

Yet, beyond the symbolism of numbers, the true beauty of her turning 72 lies not in the years alone, but in the wisdom gained, the grace she carries, and the love she has so freely given to those around her.

In such occasion, we can't help but count ourselves truly blessed, especially when we think of our former classmates, university mates and friends - some younger than us - who have already departed this world. It reminds us that the greatest treasure in these later years is not wealth or status, but health. Like many other seniors, we acknowledge that good health is the paramount concern. Thankfully, we still cycle, walk, and trek - albeit now at a more moderate pace and on gentler slopes!

May the years ahead continue to be filled with health, joy, and the warmth of family. Happy 72nd Birthday!

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While the birthday celebration was confined to just the two of us, technology made it possible for greetings to arrive instantly from afar.

Our grandson Nathan - who, twelve years ago, helped his grandmother blow out the candles on her 60th birthday cake (Read here) - did not fail to send his warm wishes. Together with his sister Gracie, they chatted with their grandparents over a WhatsApp video call, filling the moment with love and laughter despite the distance.

From Singapore, our two granddaughters, Livve and Maddie, also made the occasion extra special. They sent their birthday wishes through music, each playing the instruments they are currently learning. Their heartfelt performance not only expressed their affection but also gave us a joyful glimpse into their growing skills.

Another Empty Seat in Our Class

There’s a certain stage in life when our reunions and conversations become less about plans for the future and more about memories of the past - and, too often, farewells. School friendships, once filled with chatter about exams, sports, and youthful ambitions, now carry the weight of decades lived, and of lives gradually drawing to their close.

Lately, I’ve noticed a shift in the tone of my postings - more often than before, they’ve become farewells to friends, classmates, and acquaintances. Sadly, this is inevitable. Many of my peers are now in their seventies, already at or beyond Malaysia’s current average life expectancy of 75.2 years.

On 13.08.2025, a message appeared in our High School Class WhatsApp Chat Group: our former classmate, Richard Chua, had passed away on 10.08.2025.

Richard and I shared the entire journey of high school together at Lok Yuk Secondary School - from Form 1 in 1965 right through to Form 5 in 1969. In the early years, from January 1965 until mid-1966, our lessons were held at the old school premises on Signal Hill. In August 1966, we moved to the new campus along Jalan Teluk Likas. The old school premises, steeped in memories, have since been transformed into the Sabah Theological Seminary.

As a student, Richard stood out - not only for his academic ability but also for his natural leadership. In 1969, he was appointed Deputy Chief Minister of the School Council, a role that suited his steady and responsible nature.

After leaving school, Richard’s career path was as varied as it was interesting. He worked with trading companies dealing in veterinary products and agricultural tractors, and even ventured into breeding guard dogs. Eventually, he turned to vegetarian food marketing - a step that marked his gradual transition into a vegetarian lifestyle. In time, he became, as one classmate put it, “a diehard vegetarian.”

In 2006, Richard suffered a serious stroke that left him wheelchair-bound and made speech difficult. In 2019, when a classmate who has migrated to Hong Kong returned for holidays, several of us visited him (Read here). That was the last time I saw him. His speech was slurred and hard to follow.

On the afternoon I received news of his passing, three other former classmates and I gathered at the funeral parlour to pay our final respects. From his wife, I learned more about the long battle he had endured. Richard had lived with the effects of that stroke for 19 years - nearly two decades confined to a wheelchair, unable to move independently, and struggling to communicate. It was a grueling journey, endured with quiet strength. Equally moving was the steadfast devotion of his family, who stood by him through every challenge, ensuring he faced those years with dignity and love.

Now, another familiar face from our class has gone - but the memories remain: his smile, his spirit, and the echoes of our youth, carried in the hearts of all who knew him.

11.09.1948 - 10.08.2025

With Richard's wife at the funeral parlour on 13.08.2025.

From left: Johnny Loo, Peter Tan, me and Eddie Chow.

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With Richard's passing, it feels only natural to leaf through old photographs, revisiting the moments and laughter we once shared. They bring back the warmth of friendships and the joy of those bygone days, now etched forever in memory.

Colourized photo.

An old photograph taken in 1965 (Form 1) during class recess at the old school in Signal Hill. Back then, students often lingered along the corridor just outside the Chapel. In the picture, Richard stands second from left while I am beside him at his left.

Colourized photo.

An old photograph from 1967, taken when we were in Form 3 at the new school in Likas. Standing at the rear, Richard is fourth from the left, Peter Tan is fourth from the right, Eddie Chow is fifth from right while I am at the far left. In the front row, Peter Loo is second from the right.

An abstract of the first publication of School Magazine in 1969, "The Hornbill".

Chapter 39: Director's Quarters in IPG Keningau I Once Called My "Second Home"

It has been fourteen years since my wife retired as Director of IPG Keningau in 2011. Of all the places on campus, the Director’s quarters is perhaps the one I feel most deeply connected to. For three memorable years, from 2008 to 2011, this was the place she called “home.”

By then, our family home was already a quieter one. All three of our children had left the nest - the older two building their careers overseas, and our youngest pursuing university studies abroad. Our family home, therefore, became a space of quiet evenings and solitary mornings.

Many of her predecessors - particularly the female Directors - had chosen not to live alone, often inviting a few trusted students to occupy the spare rooms and provide companionship at night. My wife, however, decided otherwise. She chose to stay alone - a decision that, in hindsight, revealed not only her independence but also her quiet courage. It was a choice that reflected both her strength of character and her willingness to embrace solitude with grace.

During her tenure, my weekdays were spent alone in Kota Kinabalu. She would return home on Friday evenings and leave again as early as 5 a.m. on Monday. Whenever her official duties kept her in Keningau over the weekends, I preferred to travel there and spend those days with her. The 115-kilometre drive from Kota Kinabalu to Keningau became a familiar ritual - sometimes setting off on Friday at 5:30 p.m., other times as late as 8.00 p.m.

The journey itself was often an adventure: sometimes driving through sudden tropical downpours, at other times navigating the mist-shrouded bends of the Crocker Range where visibility dropped to less than ten feet, or cruising along the winding roads deep into the night. Each trip had a single, cherished purpose - to spend those precious days with her in that modest “home.”

By God’s grace, I always arrived safely and returned without mishap, spared from accidents or harm, and deeply grateful for every moment we could share. Equally remarkable was that my wife too travelled that same challenging route countless times without a single incident - another quiet blessing we never took for granted.

On 8 August 2025, I once again found myself standing before that old quarters - now home to the current Director. My last visit was in 2019, six years ago, when my former high school classmate, Ah Miao, returned from Hong Kong and we stopped by for a brief walk down memory lane (Read here).

With the current Director who now lives in the quarters.
He too will be retiring in 11 months' time. Another new Director
will take over and become the new resident of the quarters.

This time, I was struck by how little had changed. The structure stood as it always had, its mild orange walls seemingly untouched by the passing years - exactly as they were in 2008, when my wife first reported for duty here. Even the familiar contours of the building seemed to whisper, “I’m still here.”

Over the past forty years since the college first opened, many directors have passed through these doors - each arriving with a sense of purpose, each eventually leaving through retirement or transfer. The quarters have quietly borne witness to it all: evenings of quiet rest after long days, laughter shared with visiting family, moments of solitude between duties, and the unspoken farewells when it was time to move on.

Standing there, I felt the weight of its history. People come and go, but the place remains - a silent keeper of stories, holding within its walls the echoes of lives once lived here, including ours.

A Tour of Sabah Handicraft Center, Keningau

After dropping my wife off at the 40th Anniversary Celebration of IPG Keningau on the morning of 08.08.2025, I found myself with three to four hours of free time. A quick search on the internet gave me one destination - the Sabah Handicraft Centre in Keningau, or Pusat Kraftangan Sabah (PKS). Intrigued by its role in preserving and promoting local crafts, I decided it was the perfect opportunity to pay a visit.

As I stepped out of my car, I was greeted by the sight of a sprawling, modern complex -  a RM30 million landmark that first opened in 2012. This is the Pusat Kraftangan Sabah (PKS), a visionary project initiated, funded, and developed by the Yayasan Sabah Group as part of its long-term socio-economic development mission. Conceived as a one-stop hub, PKS brings together handicraft collection, artisan training, product marketing, research and development, as well as design innovation under one roof. It seeks to uplift rural communities, create sustainable livelihoods, and safeguard Sabah’s rich cultural heritage for future generations.

My first stop was the exhibition centre, a showcase of the artistry and heritage of local craftsmen. Inside, the displays feature handwoven textiles and batik in different colours, intricately carved wooden pieces, elegant ceramics, delicate glassware, and finely woven baskets and containers. The collection also includes beautifully crafted bags, belts, furniture, and home decor, each reflecting the unique cultural traditions and meticulous skills of Sabah’s artisans.

Coconut Shell Creations - These beautifully crafted items showcase the versatility of coconut shells, transformed into bowls, cups, and decorative figures reflecting the creativity, culture, and resourcefulness of the local communities.

Traditional Woven Conical Hat - Crafted from natural materials such as bamboo and rattan. The intricate black-and-red patterns, meticulously woven into the design, reflect traditional motifs of the Kadazan-Dusun and Murut communities.

Intricate traditional woven handbags - made from colourful plastic strips and traditional woven fabric with colourful geometric motifs.

The kulintangan on display instantly transported me back to a family holidays trip to Shangri-la Rasa Ria back in March 2024 when my two granddaughters, Livvie and Maddie first encountered this traditional music instrument. I still remember their curiosity and delight as the melodic chimes rang out - a charming moment that made the cultural experience even more memorable (Read here).

Some of the traditional music instruments made from bamboo.

Furniture made from rattan.

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As I made my way toward the back of the complex, I came across several spacious rooms bustling with activity. These areas function both as training classrooms - where aspiring artisans hone their skills under the guidance of instructors - and as production workshops, where intricate handicrafts are meticulously created by students and seasoned craftsmen alike.

A remarkably ingenious creation - a stunning replica of the iconic Menara Tun Mustapha, meticulously crafted from rattan!

After the tour, I felt glad that the state government, through Yayasan Sabah, had the foresight to establish this centre. Beyond preserving and celebrating Sabah’s rich ethnic handicraft traditions, it serves as a vibrant hub for training, skills development, and fostering design innovation - ensuring that these crafts remain relevant in the modern era.

From my observation, Keningau does not yet have enough attractions or venues for tourists and visitors to fully experience its local charm. For visitors who are unsure where to go or what to do, the Pusat Kraftangan Sabah is probably a good starting point. It’s not just a place to browse beautiful crafts, but an opportunity to see Sabah’s cultural heritage come alive before your eyes.

Chapter 38: Bingkor Raw Water Intake, Keningau - An Unplanned Journey Back in Time

After our visit to the Keningau Oath Stone, we continued our drive to another much-publicized accommodation in Keningau - Taman Bandukan Riverside Resort. Its advertisements had been so impressive that I had even considered staying there, had its location been closer to Keningau town.

However, a brief chat with the resort reception after arrival and a stroll around the compound turned out to be a letdown. The fleet of bicycles for rent and the boats for hire on their lake were all in various states of disrepair.

The Bingkor River nearby is certainly pleasant enough, with its calm, scenic surroundings, but it, too, falls short of being a compelling reason to spend an entire day there.

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On our way back after visiting Kampong Bandukan, just as the car rounded a bend, my wife suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, I just saw the Bingkor Water Intake!”

I instinctively made a U-turn and pulled over to take a closer look. In an instant, a flood of memories came rushing back - this was one of the very sites I had visited while working for Antah Biwater back in 1988, some thirty-seven years ago.

At that time, my task was to inspect the location and assess its suitability for the construction of a raw water intake. The visit was part of a series of site inspections and evaluations of potential sites for numerous schemes under a federal rural water supply project in Sabah. I eventually left Antah Biwater before the intake’s construction was completed, but standing there again after all these years felt like unexpectedly turning a page back in my own professional history.

Raw water intake.

Bingkor River, a short distance upstream of the intake.

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Back in 1988, Malaysia was emerging from the severe 1985-1986 economic recession. I had just left Permodalan Bumiputra Sabah Berhad, a government-linked company that, like many others, was grappling with financial difficulties. Soon after, I joined Antah-Biwater as a Senior Engineer.

An old photo taken at the office of Antah-Biwater in 1988.

Simon Chin, a fresh graduate engineer also worked for Antah-Biwater.
He later joined our consultancy practice for a few years as an
Assistant Resident Engineer for a major KK Water Supply
Extension Project.

At the time, Antah-Biwater had secured a massive RM1.4 billion Design-and-Build contract to implement rural water supply schemes across Malaysia. Ten locations in Sabah were identified under this programme: Kota Marudu, Beluran, Keningau, Kota Belud, Tambunan, Telupid, Beaufort, Tungku, Kuala Penyu, and Sipitang.

The rural schemes were spread across the state - reaching the northern stretches of the Kudat Division, the eastern reaches of the Sandakan Division, the southeast in Tawau Division, as well as the West Coast and the Interior. With a company vehicle at my disposal, I spent countless hours travelling through winding roads, remote villages, and river crossings. My duties included securing permits to enter sites for the construction of intakes, treatment plants, reservoirs, and pipelines. Along the way, I built professional ties with many engineers and officers from the PWD, DID, local authorities, and the Lands & Surveys Department.

On the home front, life was equally demanding. My three children - then aged seven, five, and three - were in the care of our stay-home maid. Whenever I was away and couldn’t fetch my daughter from school, my wife, who was then the principal of SM St. Mary in Tuaran, had to make the long rush back to do it herself.

Those were indeed challenging times - a constant balancing act between career demands and family life. My tenure with Antah-Biwater lasted just over a year. By mid-1989, I decided to leave the company and move into engineering consultancy practice, opening a new chapter in my professional journey.

The Oath Stone in Keningau

Besides reconnecting with Edward, my wedding car driver (Read here), another long-awaited item on my list was to visit the iconic Keningau Oath Stone.

The Oath Stone was formally unveiled on 31 August 1964 at the old Keningau District Office by the Federal Labour Minister, Tan Sri V. Manickavasagam, in the presence of key dignitaries including Chief Minister Fuad Stephens and G.S. Sundang. To solemnize the occasion, a maningolig ritual - conducted by a bobolian (traditional priest) - was performed.

The idea of the Oath Stone was born from early resistance among Sabah’s traditional leaders, the Orang Kaya-Kaya, who feared that the state’s rights might be eroded upon joining Malaysia. The stone thus became a physical and symbolic pledge between Sabah’s interior communities and the federal government: in exchange for loyalty to Malaysia, the government guaranteed to safeguard the state’s unique rights.

Its plaque, engraved in Malay script, declares three key assurances:

1. Freedom of religion in Sabah.
2. The Government of Sabah holds authority over land in Sabah.
3. Native customs and traditions will be respected and upheld by the Government.

Over time, the stone endured tampering - most controversially, the removal of the words “Kerajaan Malaysia Jamin” (“The Government of Malaysia guarantees”). This sparked public outrage, and in 2015, the original plaque was recovered. By 2018, the Oath Stone was relocated to the Keningau Heritage Museum, with its missing words restored, reestablishing it as an important heritage landmark.

After our meet-up with Edward, we drove to the Keningau Heritage Museum to see the Oath Stone in person - a silent witness to Sabah’s promises, struggles, and enduring identity. Standing there, I felt a quiet weight in the air, as if the stone still carried the voices of those leaders who once fought to ensure these rights. It wasn’t just a monument - it was a reminder that history lives on, not only in books and archives, but in the stones that have seen it all.

Proclamation Message by Tunku Abdul Rahman, 1st Prime
Minister of Malaysia on the formation of Malaysia in September 1963.

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Sadly, some of these declared assurances were eroded over the years. On religion, the original Sabah (North Borneo) Constitution did not declare a state religion. In fact, under Point 1 of the 20-Point Agreement, “there should be no State religion in North Borneo (now Sabah), and the provisions relating to Islam in the present Constitution of Malaya should not apply to North Borneo.”

However, this changed a decade later. In 1973, under the administration of Chief Minister Tun Mustapha Harun, the Sabah State Legislative Assembly passed an amendment to the State Constitution which declared that: “Islam is the religion of the State; but other religions may be practiced in peace and harmony in any part of the State.”

This shift - from a secular framework to having Islam as the official state religion - marked a significant departure from Sabah’s constitutional founding commitments.

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Sabah first Cabinet in 1963.
G.S Sundang was the Deputy Chief Minister cum Minister of Health.
He is seated in front row at right

G.S. Sundang, the Deputy Chief Minister cum Minister of Health in the First Cabinet of Sabah in 1963 was a prominent traditional chief and political leader in Sabah who played a key role in the events leading up to the creation of the Oath Stone. He co-founded the United Pasok Momogun Organisation (UPMO) in early 1962, following a split from United National Kadazan Organisation (UNKO), aiming to safeguard the interests of the Kadazan-Dusun-Murut communities.

Initially, he opposed the rushed formation of Malaysia, fearing that Sabah’s autonomy would be undermined. He even submitted a petition to the UN and later proceeded with a symbolic "ritual agreement" by proposing the Oath Stone as a solemn, binding promise.

Eventually, he participated in the delegation signing the Malaysia Agreement in London on 9 July 1963 and served in key political roles, including as Sabah's Deputy Chief Minister and Minister of Health.

Culturally, Sundang was a staunch defender of ethnic identity. He resisted attempts to merge the Dusun and Kadazan under a single name, arguing that the Dusun people should maintain their distinct identity. However, in the late 1990s, this distinction was officially set aside when the Kadazandusun Cultural Association (KDCA), under the leadership of its president, Tan Sri Joseph Pairin Kitingan (also former Chief Minister of Sabah), adopted the combined term Kadazandusun. The move was intended to resolve the decades-long debate over whether Kadazan and Dusun were separate groups or part of a shared cultural-linguistic heritage.

By around 2000, Kadazandusun was formally recognized in official government usage, appearing in census categories and widely used in cultural celebrations, notably the Kaamatan Festival. While this unification achieved a sense of inclusivity for some, it also marked the closing of a chapter in Sundang’s vision for distinct ethnic preservation.

Chapter 37: A Journey Back in Time with My Wedding Day Chauffeur

I had another opportunity to visit Keningau after a lapse of over six years since my last trip in February 2019 (Read here). This time, I acted as my wife's personal chauffeur, driving her to attend a celebration function of the 40th Anniversary of IPG Keningau (Keningau Teachers’ Training College) on 08.08.2025.

For this visit, I made it a point to reconnect with Edward - our wedding driver who lives in Keningau. He was the chauffeur of the wedding car for my Blessing Wedding Ceremony back on 07.04.1979.

Once I contacted him upon my arrival on 07.08.2025, he was very eager to meet up. Without hesitation, he drove straight from his home and, about half an hour later, we were sitting together at Kedai Kopi Keningau, a well-known local coffee shop.

Edward has hardly changed, except for the inevitable passage of time. In fact, we had met once before, probably about fifteen years ago, when I joined a children’s ministry group of my Church visiting BCCM Keningau.

These days, he is happily married, blessed with five children (four daughters and one son) and an impressive eleven grandchildren. His eldest grandchild is already sixteen!

As we chatted, I uncovered some remarkable coincidences connecting our families. One of his aunts (his mother’s sister) happens to be the sister of the wife of one of my company directors. Another aunt was once my colleague during my time as a part-time RTM newsreader back in 1972–1973 (Read here). And to top it off, my youngest sister-in-law served as his wife’s bridesmaid at their wedding. Truly, the small-world connections never cease to amaze me!

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Talking about his recruitment as our wedding car driver - back in early 1979, I was just starting my career as a fresh graduate engineer. While planning my wedding, money was tight, and a luxurious wedding car was well beyond our budget.

One day, a youth fellowship friend mentioned that Edward had just gotten a brand-new red Datsun Sunny Saloon - a car that looked elegant enough to double as a wedding car. Without hesitation, I approached him with my request. To my relief and delight, he readily agreed, not only offering his car but volunteering to be the chauffeur himself.

At the time, Edward was in his final year at Kian Kok High School. His parents had purchased the Datsun for his use in Kota Kinabalu - a proud and treasured possession for any young man. Yet, with characteristic generosity, he readily placed both the car and his time at our disposal for this special occasion. It was a simple act of kindness, but one that left a lasting mark on our hearts - a gesture we will always cherish.