The Journey of Faith Among Chinese Migrants

The movie "Dear You" has swept across China and Southeast Asia like a storm. Everywhere I went, almost everyone I met seemed to be talking about it.

On further reflection on the first Chinese migration to foreign lands, two things stood out as especially important to them: preserving the Chinese language and maintaining the religious traditions embraced by their families. This explains why, in nearly every place where early Chinese settlers established communities, one can find temples and ancestral worship halls. For those who had converted to Christianity, the pattern was similar. They began by gathering for Sunday worship in homes, and as their communities grew, they built church buildings to accommodate regular congregational worship.

By coincidence, I was recently invited to share the history of BCCM with a group of young lower secondary school students on 28 June 2026. It was a meaningful opportunity to reflect on how faith, migration, and heritage have shaped the church’s identity over the generations.

BCCM’s origins can be traced back to the first group of Chinese Christian migrants who arrived from Guangdong, China in 1882 to North Borneo, a territory later known as Sabah following the formation of Malaysia. These early migrants were brought in primarily to help open up vast tracts of land and dense jungles for agricultural development, including rubber plantations, coconut estates, and coffee farms across various parts of North Borneo.

Among these pioneers were Christian believers who had come to faith in China through the ministry of missionaries from Basel, Switzerland. Though they had left their homeland behind, they carried with them something far more enduring - their faith. In this unfamiliar new land, they sought to preserve and nurture that spiritual inheritance by establishing a worshipping community of their own.

In honor of the missionaries and the spiritual legacy through which they had received the Gospel, they named their church the “Basel Church.” What began as a small community of migrant believers would, over time, grow into a vibrant and enduring church, rooted in faith and committed to serving future generations.

Initially, the church was a Chinese Hakka-speaking congregation, serving the linguistic and cultural needs of its earliest members. Over the years, however, it evolved significantly. As Sabah’s demographic landscape changed, the church adapted to serve a broader and more diverse population. Today, BCCM has become a multilingual church community, ministering not only in Hakka and Chinese Mandarin but also to English-speaking and Bahasa Malaysia-speaking members.

Its journey reflects a broader story of migration, faith, and adaptation - how a community rooted in heritage can remain faithful to its origins while growing to embrace new generations and cultures.

Remembering Heroes, Honouring Everyday Greatness

This year on 19 June 2026 (Lunar 5 May), I noticed that the number of Zongzi Festival greeting cards shared in WhatsApp chat groups increased significantly compared with previous years. One former classmate even commented while sharing one of such greeting cards, “We Sabahan Chinese still remember our roots and remain very much Chinese, as we continue to observe our traditional customs.”

For me, when my parents were still alive, it was customary for our family to gather for a reunion dinner at their home whenever the Duan Wu Festival or Dumpling Festival arrived. That tradition ceased after they passed away. For our generation, maintaining such practices has become increasingly difficult, especially as many of our children have moved abroad and settled in different countries.

At times, I wonder how appropriate it is to exchange greeting cards carrying messages such as “Happy Dragon Boat Festival” or “Happy Zongzi Festival,” considering the historical origins of this observance. The original purpose of making and throwing rice dumplings into the Miluo River (汨罗江) was to prevent the body of the patriotic poet-statesman Qu Yuan (屈原) from being eaten by fish. It is, at its core, a gesture rooted in mourning and remembrance. 

According to tradition, Qu Yuan took his own life by jumping into the river after failing to persuade the king of Chu to adopt his counsel. His political failure and exile are believed to have contributed to the eventual decline of the Chu kingdom.

I remember that during the 1950s and 1960s, Chinese primary school textbooks placed great emphasis on teaching about historical heroes such as Qu Yuan and Yue Fei (岳飞). According to traditional accounts, Yue Fei, born in 1103, was physically strong, highly disciplined, and trained in both martial arts and classical scholarship. One famous story recorded in textbooks is that his mother tattooed four characters on his back - “精忠报国,” meaning “serve the country with utmost loyalty.”

Yue Fei was a celebrated general of the Song dynasty who led his forces in resisting the invading Jin armies from the north. Despite his loyalty and military achievements, he was betrayed by the corrupt official Qin Hui and was unjustly executed.

For his treachery, Qin Hui’s legacy has become synonymous with shame and humiliation. This is vividly symbolized by the kneeling iron statues of Qin Hui and his wife placed before Yue Fei’s tomb in Hangzhou. I still remember our trip to Hangzhou, China in September 2014. At Yue Fei’s tomb, we witnessed tourists slapping or striking these statues as they paid their respects to Yue Fei. It remains one of the most powerful examples of public condemnation of wrongdoing that I have ever witnessed - where, even centuries after death, a person continues to be remembered with enduring disgrace.

Yet, such powerful reminders of corruption and betrayal do not seem sufficient to deter others from repeating the same mistakes. As I have pointed out before, there is no shortage of corrupt leaders and individuals, not only in China but throughout the world even today.

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A day earlier, I had the privilege of sharing with the Golden Joy Senior Citizen Fellowship Group during the pre-Father’s Day celebration. As most of the audience were seniors who have now reached the cherished stage of being grandparents, the emphasis of my sharing was on affirming that although many of them may see their lives as simple and ordinary, they have in fact achieved something extraordinary. Through years of perseverance, sacrifice, love, and faithful commitment to their families and communities, they have built legacies that continue to shape future generations. Their lives stand as a powerful reminder that greatness is often found not in fame or recognition, but in quiet faithfulness and enduring impact.

Old Summer Palace - Yuanmingyuan

From the Summer Palace, our guide brought us to another historic site - the Old Summer Palace, known in Chinese as Yuanmingyuan. Less visited by tourists, the site today consists largely of ruins from what were once magnificent imperial structures.

What many visitors may not realize is that Yuanmingyuan was once the grandest imperial garden in China and among the most magnificent palace complexes in the world. It served as the primary residence and administrative retreat of the Qing emperors, who often preferred it to the Forbidden City for its beauty, privacy, and comfort. Construction began in 1707 during the reign of Kangxi Emperor and was greatly expanded by later rulers, especially Qianlong Emperor.

Unlike the nearby Summer Palace, which survives today in restored form, the Old Summer Palace remains largely in ruins. At its peak, Yuanmingyuan covered more than 3.5 sq. km - larger than the Forbidden City - and contained hundreds of pavilions, temples, bridges, lakes, gardens, and ceremonial halls. It was not a single garden but a vast complex of three interconnected ones: Yuanmingyuan, Changchunyuan, and Qichunyuan.

The palace represented the pinnacle of classical Chinese garden design. Its creators sought to recreate idealized landscapes from across China, blending artificial hills, winding waterways, islands, and carefully placed architecture to create ever-changing scenic views. The design embodied the traditional Chinese philosophy of shan-shui (“mountain and water”), which emphasizes harmony between nature and human craftsmanship. Rather than dominating nature, the goal was to shape it into an ideal artistic landscape.

One of Yuanmingyuan’s most fascinating sections was the Western Mansions (Xiyanglou), designed by Jesuit missionaries serving at the Qing court. These structures combined European Baroque architecture with Chinese imperial aesthetics and featured fountains, marble facades, and advanced hydraulic engineering. This rare East-West fusion made the palace even more extraordinary. The surviving stone ruins - particularly the broken marble structures visible today - are among the site’s most recognizable remains.

Yuanmingyuan suffered catastrophic destruction in 1860 during the Second Opium War. After British and French forces entered Beijing, they looted the palace and burned much of the complex over several days in retaliation for the imprisonment and deaths of diplomats and soldiers. Priceless artworks, books, bronzes, jade, porcelain, and imperial treasures were stolen or destroyed. Many of these objects remain in Western museums and private collections, including the British Museum and institutions in France. Although a small number of treasures - such as several bronze zodiac fountain heads - have been returned to China through donations or repurchases, most remain overseas.

The Chinese government has intentionally preserved much of Yuanmingyuan in its ruined state rather than fully rebuilding it. The ruins serve as a powerful memorial to foreign invasion and are deeply tied to China’s memory of the “Century of Humiliation.” Preserving the broken structures allows visitors to confront the physical scars of history. Reconstruction is also difficult because many original buildings were wooden and completely destroyed, making accurate restoration nearly impossible. A full reconstruction would risk creating a modern replica rather than preserving authentic history.

Today, Yuanmingyuan stands not only as a historical treasure but also as a solemn memorial. Although there were proposals to clear the ruins and replace them with modern development, the Chinese government remained committed to preserving them. For many Chinese, these ruins symbolize both the artistic and architectural heights of imperial China and one of the nation’s deepest historical traumas.

As I concluded my walk, I found myself reflecting on this painful chapter of Chinese history. The First Opium War and Second Opium War began largely because Britain - and later France - sought to protect and expand their commercial interests in China, particularly the opium trade. Much of the opium was produced in India under the East India Company and illegally smuggled into China on a massive scale. The consequences were devastating: widespread addiction, social disruption, and severe economic harm as large quantities of silver flowed out of China.

In response, Qing official Lin Zexu launched a determined anti-opium campaign in 1839. In an effort to protect public health and uphold Chinese law, he confiscated and destroyed more than 20,000 chests of opium at Humen. Britain used this act as the immediate justification for military action, though the deeper motivations included trade dominance and imperial expansion.

From a modern ethical perspective, China’s actions can be viewed as a legitimate attempt to defend its sovereignty, public health, and social stability against a destructive narcotics trade. Britain and France, by contrast, used military force to compel China to accept trade on Western terms, including broader commercial privileges and continued foreign access to Chinese markets.

During the Second Opium War, Anglo-French forces looted and destroyed the Old Summer Palace, stealing countless cultural treasures, many of which remain in foreign collections today.

Under modern international legal principles, actions such as aggressive war, pillage, and the deliberate destruction of cultural heritage could potentially be regarded as serious violations of the laws of war. Although such legal frameworks did not yet exist in the 19th century, many historians view the Opium Wars as stark examples of colonial coercion and exploitation.

Prince Gong’s Mansion: Palace of Power, Lessons of Greed

After lunch on 21 May 2026, we decided to visit Prince Gong’s Mansion. This huge mansion, often referred to in English as “Prince Kung’s Palace,” is one of the finest and best-preserved examples of Qing dynasty aristocratic architecture in China. Located in Beijing’s Xicheng District near Shichahai, the vast complex offers a rare glimpse into the lifestyle of imperial princes and high-ranking officials during the late imperial era.

Originally built in the late 18th century, the palace first served as the residence of Emperor Qianlong’s daughter, Gurun Princess Hexiao, and the powerful court official Heshen, who later became infamous for corruption. Following Heshen’s downfall and execution in 1799, the estate was confiscated by the imperial court and granted to Prince Qing, Yonglin. In 1850, it was bestowed upon Yixin, better known as Prince Gong (Prince Kung), from whom the mansion derives its enduring name.

The man in this old photo on display taken in this mansion is Pujie (溥杰), the younger brother of the last emperor of Qing dynasty, Puyi.

Covering more than 62,000 square metres - roughly the size of nine soccer fields - the estate is divided into two main sections: the residence (over 33,000 square metres) and the garden (over 29,000 square metres). Designed in the traditional siheyuan layout, the mansion features symmetrical courtyards arranged along a central axis, reflecting Confucian principles of order and hierarchy. Formal halls and ceremonial spaces occupy the northern section, while the southern section served as private living quarters.

A highlight of the estate is its magnificent garden, regarded as one of Beijing’s finest surviving imperial gardens. Originally known as Langrun Garden and later renamed Cuijin Garden, it contains 44 scenic spots, including winding pathways, rockeries, ponds, bamboo groves, and elegant pavilions. Blending imperial grandeur with literati aesthetics, the garden stands as a masterpiece of Qing princely landscape design. Its Rear Building, Western-style Gate, Grand Theater, and the famed Fu Stele are collectively celebrated as the “Three Masterpieces and One Treasure” of Prince Gong’s Mansion.

Today, the mansion functions as a museum, showcasing restored interiors, Qing furniture, calligraphy, and historical artifacts that illuminate aristocratic life and court culture. Often described as a “mini Forbidden City,” it remains one of Beijing’s most valuable historical landmarks.

The palace’s history also offers a sobering reflection on human nature. Its most notorious early resident, Heshen, amassed immense wealth through corruption and paid with his life. Yet such severe punishment has done little to eliminate corruption across time. In December 2025, senior Chinese banker Bai Tianhui was executed after being convicted of accepting bribes totaling approximately US$155 million (Read here). Closer to home, a former Menteri Besar of Negeri Sembilan, Isa Samad was sentenced to six years’ imprisonment for corruption.

These cases, separated by centuries and geography, reveal a persistent truth: the allure of wealth, power, and privilege remains extraordinarily strong. Despite harsh penalties and public disgrace, corruption continues to thrive, suggesting that greed and the pursuit of power remain among humanity’s most enduring temptations.

Walking Among the Memorials of Budapest and Linz

In the afternoon of 15 May 2026, with some free time before the end of our river cruise, I decided to revisit the Shoes on the Danube Bank, a site we had briefly seen during our walking tour that morning. From the ship’s docking point, I walked nearly 2km to the Danube embankment where the iron shoes stand in silent testimony to one of Hungary’s darkest chapters.

The Shoes on the Danube Bank is among Budapest’s most moving Holocaust memorials. Created in 2005 by film director Can Togay and sculptor Gyula Pauer, it consists of sixty pairs of iron shoes fixed to the riverbank near the Hungarian Parliament. They commemorate the victims who were executed at this site during the final months of World War II.

In 1944-1945, members of the fascist Arrow Cross militia carried out mass shootings along the Danube. Many victims, most of them Jews, were ordered to remove their shoes before being shot so that the footwear could be reused or sold. Their bodies were then pushed into the river. The memorial captures this atrocity through absence rather than representation: abandoned shoes marking lives suddenly and violently interrupted.

Unlike conventional monuments, there are no heroic figures or grand narratives. The shoes rest at ground level, inviting visitors to look down and reflect on the ordinary humanity of those who perished. Cast in iron, they convey permanence and weight, while their varied styles hint at the individuality of the men, women, and children they represent. Flowers, candles, and small stones left by visitors - echoing Jewish mourning traditions - continue to transform the site into a living place of remembrance. Beside it, the flowing Danube serves as a powerful metaphor for time, loss, and memory.

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Earlier that morning, our walking tour had taken us to Liberty Square in Budapest, where two very different interpretations of Holocaust memory stand side by side.

The official “Memorial for the Victims of the German Occupation,” unveiled in 2014, depicts Hungary as the Archangel Gabriel being attacked by a German imperial eagle. Its symbolism presents Hungary primarily as a victim of Nazi occupation. Historians and Jewish organisations have criticised the monument for downplaying Hungary’s own role in the Holocaust, noting that Hungarian authorities actively participated in the deportation of hundreds of thousands of Jews to Auschwitz in 1944.

Directly in front of the monument is the informal “Living Memorial,” created by citizens, survivors, and descendants who felt that the official narrative failed to acknowledge this responsibility. Composed of family photographs, letters, identity documents, candles, stones, and personal mementoes, it is not state-sponsored or formally curated. Instead, it continues to evolve through public participation.

Together, the two memorials create a powerful dialogue. One is official, permanent, and institutional; the other personal, fragile, and continually changing. The Living Memorial serves as a counter-narrative, restoring individual voices and experiences largely absent from the state monument. Surrounded by important political institutions, Liberty Square has become a symbolic space where competing interpretations of history coexist in full view.

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Earlier in our cruise, when we visited Linz, I encountered yet another approach to remembrance. The city’s Memorial Signs for Victims of National Socialism, designed by Austrian artist Andreas Strauss, consists of slender brass steles placed near the last freely chosen homes of Jewish victims.

Rather than concentrating memory in a single location, these memorials are woven into the urban landscape - along streets, beside shops, and in residential neighbourhoods - ensuring that remembrance becomes part of everyday life. Each stele records names, birth years, and known fates, restoring identity to those who were persecuted and murdered.

A distinctive feature is a small bell attached to each stele. When pressed, it emits a soft chime reminiscent of a household doorbell, evoking both the familiarity of home and the tragedy of lives uprooted by persecution. The simple act of ringing the bell transforms remembrance into a personal and physical experience.

We paused at Altstadt 3 in Linz’s old town. This stele commemorates Berthold Plaschkes, born in 1874 and murdered during the Holocaust, together with other members of his family. Located in a narrow street lined with shops and cafés, the memorial blends into the rhythms of daily life. This juxtaposition creates a quiet but powerful tension between present-day normality and the violence of the past.

Taken together, these three sites - the Shoes on the Danube Bank, the competing memorials of Liberty Square, and the dispersed steles of Linz - demonstrate different ways of confronting the legacy of the Holocaust. One speaks through absence, another through contested memory, and the third through quiet integration into everyday space. None offers simple closure. Instead, each reminds us that remembrance is an ongoing act - one that must continually be revisited, questioned, and renewed.

Echoes of Friendship Through Time - CG Birthday Celebration

Each year, our CG organizes a few rounds group birthday celebrations for the members. As most of us are in our senior years, the occasion is far more than a simple social gathering marked by cake, the singing of birthday song, and the exchange of well-wishes. At this stage of life, a birthday becomes an opportunity to reflect on the depth of our journeys and the many lives we have touched along the way.

Celebrating with the birthday "girls" on 10.04.2026.

Reaching this season of life is, in itself, a significant milestone. It speaks of resilience through changing times, challenges overcome, and lessons learned over decades of living. A celebration at this point becomes a tribute to endurance, wisdom and a lifetime of experiences.

At the same time, birthdays in later life carry a quiet awareness of time’s passage. With each passing year, there are fewer familiar faces at the table. Friends who once celebrated with us have departed, leaving behind memories that are fond yet tinged with sadness. Their absence is felt more keenly on such occasions, reminding us that life is fragile and that every shared moment is precious. This gentle awareness does not diminish the joy of the celebration; rather, it deepens its meaning. It encourages us to cherish the company we still have and to value every opportunity to gather while we can.

At this stage of life, we are also keenly aware of the importance of good health and mobility. Even amid conversations about knee pain, backaches, and the difficulty of climbing stairs, we recognize all the more the importance of seizing opportunities for togetherness while it is still possible. The laughter we share, the meals we enjoy, the photographs we take, and the conversations we hold become treasured memories for everyone present.

Ultimately, such celebrations remind us that every year is a gift, and that the timing of our final journey is never known.

The Legacy of a Simple Man - Remembering My Dad

25 January 2026 was an ordinary Sunday, yet for me it marked the twentieth anniversary of my father’s passing (Read here) and (Read here). As the years recede into history and the date grows quieter with time, it remains a day I pause to remember.

Like many father–son relationships, the lessons and values he planted made greater sense as I grew older - felt more deeply, perhaps, after he was gone.

He will be remembered as an ordinary father, but in his quiet simplicity he inspired in me the desire to be better and to strive for more in life.

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A couple of years before his passing on 25 January 2006, he moved into a care home as his mobility declined and he required full-time attention.

On Christmas Day in 2004, we were able to bring him to my home for a family gathering. That occasion turned out to be the last time he joined us together as a family - a memory that has grown more precious with time.

Family photo taken on 25.12.2004.