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Thank you to Mrs Castillo, I now have been posting old pics of mine as profile pics on my Facebook account. Sadly, I do not have any photo of mine prior to when I was 13. I have lost all those albums, and have very little of what I have after I turned 13 right until I got married to Wifey. Now let’s see if I have enough to do a journey of a lifetime:

The above was me, aged 13, back in 1979, when we were at the police’s bungalow called Greysands in Port Dickson. I was on an assault boat when this pic was taken.

This was taken in 1980, when I was 14, and it was the third day of Hari Raya Aidil Fitri.

This was in 1981, when I was 15. We were flying back to KL from London, via Singapore, when our plane was struck by lightning somewhere over Paris. So, we had to stop in Zurich, Switzerland, and had a 4-day paid holiday courtesy of Singapore Airlines. This was taken at the Hilton in Zurich while having lunch, before we were taken to the airport for our flight to Singapore.

In July 1982, we sailed to Tioman on board the police fast patrol boat, the KPD Lang Kuik (PZ 4). As we passed Pulau Tulai en route to Tekek, the Commanding Officer, DSP Michael Lee, asked me if I was a good swimmer. I said yes. He gave me a crash course in scuba diving. It is still my hobby since then.

In 1983, I turned 17. This was taken inside Hargreaves Hall, the main hall of my alma mater. We had tables and chairs in there because it was during the SPM trials period.

In 1984, I was already in England. This pic was taken during summer of that year. I went to England 2 weeks after SPM (December 1983), and never got to enjoy the honeymoon like others did.

This was Autumn of 1985 on the campus grounds.

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve lost most of my albums. I only have 4 albums left. So, there are missing parts in my life. Anyway, let’s carry on.

This picture was taken in 1991 on the Penang Bridge. My men and I (I’m the one left most, followed by LAC Faizal, AC Nizam and Cpl Hashim) were returning to base after an exercise. Note: we were using a civilian-registered vehicle for the exercise.

And this was me back in 1992 somewhere along the Strait of Malacca.

This was me in January 1993, 6000 feet above Gong Kedak Airbase, jumping off a C-130H.

This was me receiving a medal from the 10th Yang DiPertuan Agong (the late Yam Tuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan) back in 1995.

This was me in 1998. 21st April 1998, to be exact. I landed at the North Pole by parachute.

This was my student, Bob, and I, after our jump at Ipoh airport in 2000.

This picture was taken on 21 November 2001 after riding a jet-ski non-stop for 21 hours 11 minutes, completing 1000 kilometers in the process. This was to be my 3rd and final Malaysian record.

This was by Lac Leman in Geneva in October 2003 during the ITU Telecom World 2003. I was 37 years old.

In August 2005, I attended the 11th ASEAN Telecommunications Regulatory Committee. The farewell dinner’s theme was anything related to James Bond. So, I had a name tag made quickly.

By 2006, I was actively diving – I was no longer going to any office 🙂

I was still actively diving in 2007. Seen here with a Great Barracuda behind me at Terumbu Tiga, Perhentian.

In 2008, diving took a slow pace because I met this wonderful woman. This was taken on 22nd March 2008.

In 2009, I married her, after knowing her for 18 months (12 of which were being in a relationship).

So there have you…the pictorial journey of my life. I wish I could find my lost photos, or even the ones of me until the age of 12.

I’ll see what I can do…

Waking up late on weekend mornings, and hearing the laughter of my children

Just the other day I went out with Wifey and the kids, and I looked at them eating. I did the same when my stepchildren ate. I just looked at them. I am always reminded of my childhood.

I learnt table-manners the hard way. That included the use of hand while eating; the use of fork and spoon and fork and knife while eating – all the hard way.

I think I was eight or nine years old. I would assume children of that age would have problems eating at their own house. It’s not fun to eat unless it’s something that cannot be cooked at home ie. hot dogs, burgers etc. And it is always more fun eating when there are people of your age: friends, cousins etc., that even if the food’s not that good, you tend to eat more than you would at home.

So, there I was, at the house of a family friend, eating plate after plate of rice with their children, and my elder sister. It felt so good eating with people around your age, and my friend’s mother would pile scoops of rice onto my plate.

A week or two later, back at our Section 16 PJ home, I was having dinner, and ate very slowly. After a while, I turned to my mother and told her that I didn’t want to eat anymore. My father was furious. He got up, scooped some rice into his hand, and literally shoved the rice into my mouth. When I did not chew as fast as I could, he would either twist and pull my ear, or slap me. I ate as much and as fast as I could even though I could taste blood. But I guess that tasted better than the ear-ringing slaps that were offered as the alternative.

Another reason to get slapped is when you go for a dish with your rice-covered hand – in this case, it was a fried fish. The fish was good, and I went for it. As soon as my hand touched the fish, a slap landed on my face.

And I dreaded those trips to Fraser’s Hills. Those were when I learnt the hard way how to use the fork, spoon and knife. My dinner would end more than an hour later until I got the correct way of getting all those peas and corns onto my fork using the knife or spoon, depending on whether it was local or western food being served. Come to think of it, maybe that is why I have tinnitus. Just by having dinner.

Sometimes, you get punished for not even being there. There was once when my younger brother had his fingers trapped by my father’s car door. I was inside my room, upstairs, when that happened. Then I heard my father yelling my name out. I quickly rushed downstairs and when I got to him, a hard slap greeted me – the kind where your vision blacks out momentarily and your ears ring like mad, but by the time you regain your senses, you’re being dragged by your ear to his favourite place for you – where all his canes were stored, and he would whack me with only two – either the Officers’ Cane that would leave the back of your thighs promoting the Royal Malaysian Police force, or the Kayu Tas cane from Sarawak that was covered in beautiful beads.

I was so terrified of my father. And it was not just me. Even my mother’s friends would scamper into the kitchen whenever they hear the sound of my father’s car. But why me is the question that keeps bugging me, even until now. Is it because I was born exactly 40 days after my elder sister died? I don’t know. I don’t ever want to know, and I will never ask.

It is because of the past that I still have problems talking to my father (not that I have for the past 2 years and 5 months anyway). But it is also because of the past, that I would give my kids big hugs whenever I see them.

Although I have this rampart built around me because of my past, my kids are inside with me.

If my memory serves me right, the first time I ever went to Penang was when I followed my parents on their first tour of the north after my father took the helm of the Royal Malaysian Police Force after his predecessor was assassinated by communist terrorists (whose leader some quarters in this country are trying to bring back and portray as a Patriot). That was in 1974. And we stayed at what was the Merlin Hotel on Farquhar Street (now the City Bayview Hotel on Jalan Farquhar). My parents left early for some reason, so I had to stay at the house of someone who became my batchmate at the Malay College 5 years later (Dr Suhaimi Osman, now a cardiologist at the National Heart Institute) until we left Penang some days later, by virtue that I had to follow the late Datuk Ahmad Maulana SM Babjee (former head of CID, and also an uncle of Dr Suhaimi).

After that I never visited Penang again until 1980, when I followed my family on holiday there. Then, again in 1981 and 1982, when Dato Zaman Khan was the CPO of Penang, 1983 when I was a Cadet Sergeant, taking the Company out on an excursion. My next visit after that was in 1986 after my return from England (I went on an ad-hoc camping trip with my schoolmate, Hafiz a.k.a Jawa).

In 1989, I was stationed at the RMAF Air Training Command HQ, located at the former RAAF School, Jalan Azyze, Tanjung Bungah (Hillside), initially as the Staff Officer (3) Programming, then as the HQ Adjutant a year later until I left in early 1992.

I would say Penang was one of the best places I was ever stationed at when I was still serving. A typical day would have been like this:

0700 – breakfast at the Officers’ Mess
0745 – morning parade
0800 – work commences
1245 – lunch at the Officers’ Mess
1400 – work re-commence
1600 – ‘O’ Group to plan activities for the evening
1615 – work ends: back to the Officers’ Mess to change
1700 – off to Teluk Bahang or at the breakwater of what is now the Copthorne Orchid for fishing
2359 – back at the Officers’ Mess

My fishing kakis included Corporal Hashim (later Warrant Officer Hashim who was with me at the Air Force Legal Department, now retired and living in Sentul), Corporal Karim (who was with me later at Songhkla, now retired as a Warrant Officer and is now living in Pengkalan Hulu), Corporal Budin (passed away in 1993), Warrant Officer Rahman Said (passed away in 1995, he retired at the age of 42 in 1992 and got married the following year), Sivalingam (our civilian clerk who has now retired and residing in Taiping), Sergeant Aziz Din (the guy who coined the famous term Thursday night Friday, now retired and living in Kodiang), Corporal Lim Boon Cheng (passed away in 1994), army Captain Ustaz Razali (KAGAT) who got transferred out in 1990 (I used to make him watch porn movies as part of his mess initiation), Flight Sergeant Zakaria Din (retired as a Warrant Officer, now living in Bangi), Flight Sergeant Misran Sueib (retired in 1995 and went back to Trong, Perak), Corporal Ustaz Shahrul (from KAGAT) and Aircraftman Nizam (the Kelantanese Iban who reported for duty to me saying, “Saya orang IBAE tuae!”).

We were like so into fishing that even our General Officer Commanding (GOC or Panglima), Brigadier General Dato’ Fauzi bin Hussain (retired as a Major General, as Deputy Chief of Air Force) used to join us fishing during weekends.

General Fauzi was my Panglima when I joined the Air Force as an Officer Cadet. He remained the Command HQ’s Panglima until he was succeeded in 1990 by Brigadier General Dato’ Nawi Alias (retired as a Major General, he was also the Inspector-General of the Air Force, and also the Chief of Staff, Malaysian Armed Forces), followed by Brigadier General Abdullah Omar (retired as the GOC 1st Air Division).

We had two Chief of Staffs when I was there: first it was Lieutenant Colonel Chong Keng Lay, an Air Force hero, a disciplinarian but cared for his subordinates, until 1990 (he was posted to RMAF Station Kuala Lumpur a.k.a known as TUDM Sungai Besi), followed by Colonel Nagaratnam Ampalam, a quiet but stern disciplinarian, who jogs 10km every evening without fail. Definitely not an apple polisher as he never played golf to please superiors. He earned the nickname Mango Dragon from us (Mango because of the Tamil word for Mango is Maam Palam, that’s where the word Mempelam originated from, and Dragon from his name Naga).

The building itself used to be the Royal Australian Air Force school, for children of the members of the RAAF stationed at the Butterworth AFB (they now have Dalat School along Jalan Tanjung Bungah). It was opened on 9th May 1962, and the last school year was in 1988, before it was taken over by the Royal Malaysian Air Force.

The Air Training Command (Markas Pemerintahan Pendidikan Udara) ceased to exist in 1993, and the premise was taken over by the Institut Latihan Ikhtisas TUDM (ILIT), and was later renamed Sekolah Ikhtisas Tentera Udara (SITU).

Sometimes, after office, we would go to Murad‘s along Jalan Tanjong Tokong (it was seafront then before they reclaimed the seafront) to eat Cucur Bawang with Teh Tarik, or Mee Hoon Soup Utara; and at night we would have Char Kuey Teow at Tanjung Bungah itself.

The area was initially a gangsters’ hideout, and gangsters were notoriously killing people and dumping the bodies at the ravine along Jalan Lembah Permai, and the chinese cemetery located at Mount Erskine (we nicknamed this place Mount Foreskin). These two locations were linked via Fettes Park (we pronounced it as Fatties).

The area became peaceful after we were deployed there, for reasons I shall not disclose here.

Anyway, I’ve lost all the pics of my tour in Penang. I only have three albums left of my childhood and teenage days. I have no picture of me prior to the age of 13. I blame that on my divorce.

Below are pictures of our Command HQ from various sources:

Google Maps satellite view of Tanjung Tokong on the right, and Tanjung Bungah on the left. Right most is the reclaimed area that was once one of my fishing areas (Courtesy of Google Maps)

When it was still the RAAF School (Picture courtesy of RAAF School Penang)

The Air Training Command HQ in 1992, a year after I was posted out (Picture courtesy of RAAF School Penang)

The basketball yard under RAAF School – on the left was the Junior Ranks’ Barracks, now replaced by a 3-storey block, while on the right was the Cookhouse and Junior Ranks’ Mess. This block is no longer there. (Picture courtesy of RAAF School Penang)

The basketball yard after the RAAF handed over the complex to the RMAF in 1988 (Picture courtesy of RAAF School Penang)

SITU in 2003. This was the Administration Block where my office was located (Picture courtesy of RAAF School Penang)

SITU in 2007. The Administration Block is the one on the right (where my office was located). The center block housed the Logistics, Engineering and Operations Squadrons. The left-most block was the Officers’ Mess (Picture courtesy of RAAF School Penang)

Nisaa and Farhan at my office last week

I was waiting for my turn to buy some satay because Wifey’s cousin from Sarawak was coming over for dinner when I saw a little girl, who looked a bit like Nisaa when she was two plus, looking at her mother who was quarreling over the phone.

“Mak, mak!” she called to her mother. “Ayah ke tu?”

Her mother nodded.

“Nak cakap dengan ayah!” her eyes gleamed. Her mother passed her the phone and she happily yakked away on the phone with her father.

I remember that happy face on Nisaa’s when I was going through a bad period with her mother.

Such innocence…

The late Bob Monkhouse, who was a British comedian, once made this funny joke about his mother-in-law:

My wife said: ‘Can my mother come down for the weekend?‘ So I said: ‘Why?‘ and she said: ‘Well, she’s been up on the roof two weeks already‘.

While I can remember my all my ex-fathers-in-law’s name, I have trouble remembering my ex-mothers-in-law’s, save for my first ex’s. They were all nice ladies, all good mothers-in-law.

My first mother-in-law was Ishah binti Puteh, who would be 70 now. She is illiterate, and uneducated, but had a heart of gold. My ex-father-in-law, started an affair with a neighbour on my wedding day, and left her a month later. She had high-respect for me and treated me very well. Whenever I go back to my ex’s hometown, she would prepare my favourite: pucuk Janggus (or Jagus, depending on whichever state you’re from) and sambal belacan. She would scold my ex for being such a lazy person, and for not even attempting to prepare meals for me, not that I ever asked my ex to do so. So, when my ex left me, taking the kids away, and subsequently filed for divorce, it was my ex-mother-in-law who tried to talk her out of it, advising her to be a better wife etc, and pleaded with me not to grant the divorce the eve of the divorce proceedings. It was heartbreaking to lose such a kind mother-in-law.

When I remarried almost 2 years later to someone I didn’t like, I of course gained another mother-in-law. A widow, she should be in her mid-70s now. By this time, I never bothered to find out what her name was, because my second ex didn’t quite like going back to her hometown unless if some special food’s been prepared by a grandaunt whom has since passed on. This ex mother-in-law of mine, was another kind-hearted woman. She would address me in the way the old Johor folks would, by adding the title ‘Encik’ before my name every time she spoke to me. Before I did my first BASE jump, she would hold prayer sessions to pray for my safety, and even made me Laksa Johor and Bariyani Gam before I went off to Mecca to perform my Haj.

My third marriage had its own complexities. However, again, I gained a thoughtful mother-in-law. Once I was working late on the eve of Aidil Fitri, and was with high-fever, she refused to let anyone, siblings, grandchildren, nephews and nieces included, to eat my favourite Hari Raya dishes – rendang paru, hati and limpa. All of them had to wait for my arrival, but alas, I was too feverish to eat anything that night. Therefore, all of them had to wait until after the Aidil Fitri prayers. When my ex blatantly disappeared with other men, coming home in the early hours of the morning, leaving a couple of hours later, my mother-in-law oozed apologies for her daughter’s behaviour. I was made to understand that she no longer makes rendang paru, limpa and hati; and every time I call her house to speak to my children when they are there, she would cry listening to my voice, still apologising for her daughter’s behaviour, and asking me not to forget her. And I feel bad, not knowing her name, except for the nickname her siblings call her: “Kak Nah.”

Such is life – I had very good mothers-in-law, but not so good wives.

It’s the 22nd day of fasting, and in less than a week, the mad balik kampung rush will commence for millions; with their baju melayu or baju kurung all set to be worn, kids bouncing up and down the back seat killing both time and the mental stability of the parents; bus and train loads of less fortunate people plying the highways and trunk roads; the richer fly Malaysia Airlines, and the less-fortunate richer people fly Air Asia. Not everybody can fly this Hari Raya as tickets to most destinations have been sold out, so much that I had to cancel my trip to Miri because the only return date I could travel on would be on the second day of Hari Raya.

Of course there will also be those who would return to their hometowns and stay put 2 meters beneath ground level.

Hari Raya, to me, has always been about spending it with loved ones.

My early memories of Hari Raya would probably go back to when I was 4 or 5 years old when we were in Melaka – I remember we had this huge chinese antique urn and it had this plant in it where the Hari Raya cars were hung on display. When I was 8 and/or 9, we would celebrate Hari Raya at our Section 16 house in PJ. It was between the ages of 10 through 17 that we would occasionally return to my mom’s kampung mostly, and my dad’s about twice.

Sadly, I do not remember much about my paternal grandmother. My paternal grandfather passed away when my father was 13 years old. Some friction between my father and my grandmother over the death of his favourite younger brother after whom my younger brother is named, and his subsequent tight schedules due to his job, meant that we siblings spent so little time with our paternal grandmother. However, every year, whether or not we would go back to her place, my grandmother never failed to send me kuih bahulu ikan. Hers is still my favourite, and I have never found any that taste quite like hers. She also made the bantal alas tangan for my elder sister’s wedding as her wedding gift, but passed away two months short of the wedding itself.

I think, Hari Raya was more meaningful to me as a kid, I guess, especially when it was celebrated at my mom’s kampung, with all the cousins. Once married, the meaning of Hari Raya was somewhat different for me. It was about going back to your spouse’s kampung, meeting new sets of people, trying to remember who’s who and what to whom, trying to assimilate and understand the nature of how they celebrate their Hari Raya – I mean, they have been doing it a lifetime, and here you are, trying to grasp the idea. Then, when you have kids, it was about making Hari Raya as fun as possible for them, and you realise that the Hari Raya that you had more than a decade earlier, is the Hari Raya your kids are learning to enjoy. I guess Hari Raya would be more meaningful if the spouse is fun to be with. After my divorce, I spent Hari Raya in 2007 diving in Perhentian.

However, the month of Ramadhan has been meaningful to me this year, simply because I now have a spouse who is also fun to be with. And below has been how we have been spending our Ramadhan:

Helping Wifey with her Kacang Pool Hj Demon

We also had berbuka puasa dates, this one at Baiti’s

And Ramadhan would be almost meaningless without having great friends over for berbuka

And taking the kids out for berbuka

And as I mentioned earlier, Ramadhan and Hari Raya would be meaningless if the spouse isn’t fun to be with. This year, as we did last year, we spent a weekend in Tioman diving with friends:

With Wifey beneath Salang Jetty

I can safely say now that Hari Raya is more meaningful too; and I am looking forward to more happy Haris Raya from now on. And having a spouse who is a best friend helps.

…kampungku indah nun jauh di sana…

I no longer have a kampung. And how I define a kampung as is a place where my grandparents lived, and either parent originated from, and filled with my childhood memories. Since we hardly went back to Teluk Intan (my father’s hometown) when my paternal grandmother was still alive: Kampung Jerangsang, Mukim Tanjung Besar, Daerah Benta, Negeri Pahang was the only kampung I have vivid memories of. And the month of Ramadhan is always closely associated with a kampung, underscored by the late Sudirman’s song “Balik Kampung.”

Back in the early 70’s, the house my late grandparents used to live in consisted of only 3 parts: the serambi (the verandah where guests were entertained), the Rumah Ibu (the main part of the house that had only two rooms, one was occupied by late grandparents, the other was by my youngest uncle before he went off to England to further his studies back in 1972), and the Dapur (the kitchen). At the edge of the dapur, the planks were made of 2-inch boards with gaps in between as it served as the toilet at night. Those were the times when tigers and communist terrorists alike, used to roam at night, not to mention some supernatural beings they say. The bathroom was a well on the left-hand side of the house, where, during those early days, we had to employ a pail attached to a rope to fetch water.

The house was separated from the paddy fields behind it by a small stream that looked somewhat wide when I was little. My elder cousins used to bathe in it, and I have seen people fish in it. But what I remember most about the stream is the coconut tree trunk that used to straddle it, that was used by my cousins for mass crap-dumping sessions after dinner, while the younger ones like I, and my cousin Harry, would have to stand guard with a torchlight to “light” up the dark night.

The house eventually “grew” in size; in the end it had 2 other rooms added, three bathrooms (one ended up as a store) with flush toilets. Electricity came to Jerangsang very slowly. In the early 80’s we had 12-hour electricity, that eventually became 24-hours in the late 80’s. Water supply came in around the early 1990’s, but that was more to supplement the fresh cold stream water we tapped from the hills nearby.

Hari Raya would see us: aunts and uncles, and cousins get together as one, catching up with those who did not live in KL as most did. And because of the celebration being in a kampung, it was more traditional in nature than it would be in larger towns and cities. Two days before hari raya, arrival at the kampung was never followed by a good rest. You would be assigned to a task: the men would have to help make rendang, lemang and dodol, while the womenfolk, led by my grandmother, would be in the kitchen, cooking other dishes that could be eaten with the lemang, or for the breaking of fast later in the evening. And every night after, we would have fireworks and firecrackers to play with, much to my father’s chagrin. On Hari Raya itself, we would have members of the police field force (now police general operations force) on duty in that area coming over to the house on my father’s invitation, to eat good food.

Later in the 80’s, one by one the older cousins would start their own family, and have their own life. Although they do make it a point to go back to Jerangsang, we would only meet each other there on alternate years, or not at all since their alternate years of being there is when others were away. That’s one of the ways how us cousins grew apart.

My last hari raya spent there with my grandparents was just a month before my grandfather passed away. Still reeling from my divorce and the Asian Financial Crisis, I went back to Jerangsang with whatever money I had left with me. I am glad I made that journey as it would be the last time I would see my grandfather as his usual jovial self. He even got a masseur for me that hari raya day because I had sprained my back so bad I could not lift my right arm or breathe without feeling pain. A month later, I saw him at the hospital, post-surgery, in a coma; and he passed away not long after. My grandmother followed him exactly six-months later, which, I believe, was more because she missed him terribly, than because of the sudden onset of terminal cancer.

It was decided by my mom’s family that my late uncle should stay there with his family to look after the house. We went back for hari raya again the following year. Yes, it wasn’t the same without the matriarchal and patriarchal figures around, but nevertheless we managed to keep the family together still.

Then my uncle passed away in an accident in 2002. Subsequently it was decided to rent the house out to aliens from a neighbouring state. With that, we cousins have lost the final link: a place that would have brought us all together as one, as it used to for decades.

Gone are the laughters of the members of the fourth generation, the stupid jokes the third generation would trade; we cousins now hardly know what’s happening to one another. Let’s not even talk about if any of our children know each other, save for one or two second cousins.

And as I sit typing this posting out, I can still remember the smell of the crisp cold fresh air, the mist-covered top of the hills behind the paddy fields, and the hot black coffee we would enjoy with our late grandfather, served with cream crackers…and ponder upon the thought of having to return to my wife’s kampung for the rest of my life…her kampung, where only love exists, but devoid of childhood memories.

I hope, if any of my cousins are reading this, please let us get together one day, with photos of our beloved kampung and let us scan these pictures and distribute them. I’m sorry but I have none.

For those who still have a kampung to return to, preserve your kampung and the link between families. You have no idea how it feels to have lost a kampung.

Wifey is on her flight and now I am waiting for her arrival at the airport. And everytime I am about to see her again, no matter the duration, I get butterflies in my stomach. And I have not felt as such for a long, long time. And it is always good to know that the one you love still has that effect on you.

For Wifey, thank you for making time to be with me a day before my course exams, and for wanting to be with me.

MY WIFE, MY LIFE

It has been a fortnight of sleeping in a cold bed
And every morning I wake up feeling dead
What I would give to be with you each day
But I could not have you by me no matter the way

I wish I could tell you the things I wanted to say
From the dark of the night until the sun shines it ray
But no matter how sunny it may be in the morn’
I always wake up like I’m in a mourn

I am a man forlorn
On me the day’s beauty does not adorn
Getting through a day alone is always laborious
Without you the simplest of things become arduous

Returning to me today is the meaning of life
Returning into my arms today is my lovely wife

John F SeaDemon
Senai Airport, JB – 20th August 2009

I’m sorry if it sounds crappy. At least it rhymes. 😛

I had trouble making my mind up on what to have for dinner last night. The kind of food that I had in mind included Satay, Roti Canai, Char Kuey Teow, and either a Big Mac from Son of Donald’s, or a Whopper. In the end, I settled for something that wasn’t on the list: KFC’s Snack Plate and Cheesy Wedges.

Sitting at the KFC outlet with Wifey, I mentioned to her that prior to going abroad to further my studies, I only had less than 5 visits to a KFC outlet (I left Malaysia in 1983, and McDonald’s only came to Malaysia in 1984).

If my memory serves me right, I only had my first roti canai when I was 10. And that was on one of the days the driver (arwah Pakcik Ramli – he passed away from a heart attack after my father’s retirement in 1994) picked me up from school, and we went to this restaurant called Yusof Restaurant along Jalan Masjid India – I think mainly because the waitresses were good looking, more than anything else. I was able to whack like 5 rotis canai in one sitting, something that would be a mammoth of a task for me these days. My personal record remains at 8 rotis canai – when I was in Form Two.

I can’t remember when, during my childhood years, did we ever go out for meals as a family. I mean, just us, as a family, without my father’s friends and their family. I remember when I was 7 or 8, we would frequent the Medan Selera in Section 14 PJ (where the Digital Mall and food court are now), but those trips were always made with family friends. It’s only after my father had retired from the police force, that all of us, go out for meals together…siblings, parents and all. By that time, I already have 2 kids while my elder sister, 3.

I had my first Japanese food when I was 16. And that was at the Federal Hotel. My favourites then were Tempura, Sashimi and Chawanmushi. Nowadays my Japanese menu is much more elaborate.

Well, at least I’m learning to eat lots of stuff I’ve never had, now that I’m married to Wifey.