While I firmly believe that a successful marriage is not determined by rituals or traditions alone, a ceremony like this is a beautiful expression of a parent's heartfelt wishes. It symbolizes the desire to see her daughter embrace the fullness of joy, love, and companionship in her married life. More than that, it was a meaningful and memorable experience - filled with warmth, smiles, and a touch of cultural charm.
Of course, it takes much more than a symbolic gesture like hair combing to build a strong and lasting marriage. Marriage requires a daily, conscious commitment from both partners - a shared resolve to love, grow, forgive, and walk together through the ups and downs of life.
In my view, the likelihood of a successful marriage increases significantly when God is placed at the centre. That’s why I believe a prayer at the end of the ceremony - inviting God’s presence and guidance - can make a real difference. Ultimately, however, it’s still the bride and groom who must choose, each day, to honour their vows and nurture their relationship.
This is just remarkable. What it takes one or two child births to have multiple kids is achieved in one go!
This morning, I was in Tawau for a meeting. After it ended, I asked my Site Supervisor to take me for a quick visit to an old project site - a massive storm drain which we had designed and supervised way back in 1989. I wanted to snap a few photographs for memory’s sake.
After taking the photos, I jumped down from the edge of the drain to the roadside verge. In that very moment, disaster struck - my handphone slipped out of its casing and plunged straight into the murky, rubbish-filled, foul-smelling water below.
It was horror of horrors. The thought of losing the phone itself wasn’t as painful as the idea of losing hundreds of precious contact numbers stored inside. Looking at the water’s condition - the depth, the stench, and the trash floating about - I knew there was no way I could retrieve it.
Then came an incredible moment. Without a second’s hesitation, my Supervisor removed his shoes and climbed into the waist-deep water to try to recover it for me. At first, he tried to feel for the phone with his feet. When that didn’t work, he climbed back up - only to discover that his own phone, forgotten in his pocket, had been completely soaked and was now lifeless. I felt terrible.
Still, he didn’t give up. He stripped off his shirt and went back into the drain, this time using his hands to search. After nearly 15 minutes of determined effort, he suddenly yelled, “Got it!” To my amazement, he had found my phone at the bottom of the drain.
Of course, my phone was waterlogged and dead on arrival. But there was one silver lining - I managed to retrieve the SIM card, sparing me the nightmare of rebuilding my contacts list from scratch.
Back home, I remembered a tip someone once gave me: dry a soaked phone with a hair dryer. I tried it, and to my utter relief, the phone powered back on. Everything was intact - contacts, messages, photos - praise the Lord!
I immediately tried to call my Supervisor to share the good news, but naturally, his phone wasn’t working. So I sent him an SMS through one of his friends, asking him to try the same drying trick. An hour later, he texted back with equally wonderful news - his phone had revived too!
What an unbelievable twist to an almost tragic story. Both phones, back to life.
And for the record, the true hero of the day - the “saviour” of my phone - is none other than Maznan Madun.
Patrick Tan and his wife, Jenny were in Sabah with a delegation of oil palm growers for a study visit to the estates in Lahad Datu. After wrapping up their official program, they decided to extend their stay by another day and a half to catch up with old friends in Kota Kinabalu. Instead of flying directly from Sandakan back to Kuala Lumpur, they made a short detour to KK.
As always, our reunion was filled with warm conversations and laughter. This time, however, our talks went a little deeper as we reflected on the theme of “living a significant second half of our lives.” After all, most of us are already in our fifties - an age where such thoughts naturally come to the forefront.
Before their evening flight, we gathered for lunch at the Salut Seafood Restaurant. The choice wasn’t mine - Patrick had heard from friends about the supposedly “good and cheap seafood” there and was eager to try it. Unfortunately, the food and ambience turned out to be rather underwhelming - neither particularly good nor memorable. Still, with old friends around, the experience was less about the food and more about the company, which made it all worthwhile.
We were also delighted to be joined by another pair of ex-MU 5th Collegians, Peter and Joyce Lai, which added even more warmth and laughter to our brief but meaningful reunion.
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| From left: Joyce, my wife and Jenny. |
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| From left: Patrick, me and Peter Lai. |
The commemorative book is a heartfelt collection of articles written by the couple’s daughters and grandchildren. Through their stories, I came to see the lives of simple migrants from China who worked tirelessly to build a livelihood and raise a family in Sabah. There was nothing glamorous or extraordinary - just the quiet dignity of ordinary people living ordinary lives.
From the writings, it became clear that the spinster daughter, who had lived with her parents until their passing, took their loss very deeply. This book was largely her way of paying tribute - a personal labor of love to honor the memory of her beloved parents.
Still, his departure came as a surprise. He explained that his elderly father, who together with his mother runs a small roadside noodle stall, had recently broken his arm. Out of concern, he felt compelled to return home to persuade his parents to retire and close the business once and for all. When I asked what would happen if his parents insisted on continuing, he said he believed it was simply too dangerous for them to carry on at their age. He had long been uneasy about them having to rise at dawn every morning, riding a motorbike at 5 a.m. just to set up the stall.
I must admit, he was one of the most driven and reliable people we have had on our team - hardworking, dependable, and rare in today’s workforce. Paul would certainly agree with me that he is truly one of a kind and will not be easy to replace.
For those who may not be aware of this historical background, the story goes like this.........
Today, 19 June 2007 (5th day of the 5th lunar month), is the Dumpling Festival - also known as Duan Wu Jie. Some call it the Zongzi Festival, and others the Dragon Boat Festival.
For the first time, I even received an SMS greeting from a friend in KL specially for this occasion. Later in the afternoon, around 3 p.m., another friend called to ask if I was working only half a day in view of the festival. As it turned out, our office carried on as usual. Still, I can’t help but feel that the Zongzi Festival is becoming increasingly “celebrated” - or perhaps more accurately, commercialized - compared to the past.
When I was younger, my parents would mark four festivals each year with a family reunion dinner: Chinese New Year, the Dumpling Festival, the Mid-Autumn Festival, and the Winter Solstice. These days, the tradition has been reduced to three, with the Mid-Autumn Festival quietly falling off the list.
I often wonder what great or exemplary deeds Qu Yuan must have accomplished in ancient China to be remembered so fervently by Chinese communities all over the world, especially in regions where Chinese are the majority. Surely, one might think, Confucius contributed more to Chinese civilisation and deserved a similar degree of commemoration?
But as I reflect, the difference seems obvious: no special food was ever created in memory of Confucius, whereas Zongzi immortalised Qu Yuan, and mooncakes came to symbolise resistance against the Yuan dynasty.
As always with the Chinese - and indeed with most people - food often carries more lasting power than the greatest of deeds!
Of course, there are exceptions. The life and teachings of Jesus Christ, for instance, left an immeasurable and lasting impact on humanity - and yet his remembrance is not tied to any single food.
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This morning in church, I happened to sit next to Rev. Thomas Tsen Lip Tet (Irene Tsen’s father). After the service, we had a good chat, mostly catching up about the children.
Rev. Tsen himself will be returning to the U.S. for his doctoral graduation, and apparently his wife will also be graduating, though I am not entirely sure in which field.
After that, the “old couple,” as he put it with a smile, plan to settle back in Sabah for good. Another family returning home - though without puppies or cats this time!
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