Sunday, May 4, 2008
-10:19 PM-
Melody:
Here is the second part(:
Chapter 2
No pain.
She listened to the silence. She was perfectly alone. She was not perfectly sure whether she was there herself.
It occurred to her she must exist, for she was lying on some sort of tiling. As this sentiment came through, her eyes opened wide. She found herself in a dark living room of sorts, with elaborate furniture. They all seemed like on of those antiques that you go to a shop to buy for ornamenting your house with.
Standing, she found that she was clothed in the garments she wore when she… what? She could not seem to remember. Jump, something about jumping.
Giving up the pursue of her train of thought, she began to explore, stunned that her feet made no sound when she traversed the marble tiling.
Suddenly she was aware of a presence. It had been dark and she had not sensed the woman, but now she sighted her. To Melody’s astonishment, she wore a traditional costume, something called…a kebaya. She had dark skin, but in the blackness, everything was dark. Her face was a stunning blend of Chinese and Malay.
“I am sorry! I didn’t mean to, I don’t know how I came here-” gabbled Melody.
The woman did not seem to have noticed. She continued picking her way delicately towards Melody. As she became uncomfortably close, Melody stepped back awkwardly and realised there was another woman a few steps behind her, dressed exactly the same, albeit with her hair in a bun and the kebaya a pale blue with different intricate patterns.
Suddenly she felt an odd sensation in her body and looked down. To her shock and fear, a hand from the first woman had extended into her body through to the other side to grasp the other woman’s hand! But there was no pain.
“Chiak pah boey?” said the first woman. Both females did not seem to have noticed Melody, let alone noticing the hand through her body.
Melody screamed but no sound came. Wildly, she backed away into another room, another and another. Her body just floated through the flesh of the two women. Thoroughly freaked out, her eye caught a photograph hanging on a nearby wall. In big capitalised words on top of the picture, it read: “In remembrance of the 80s-90s 20 years later – taken yesterday”.
Horror.
She wheeled away from the two women’s distant figures as she put her hand to her mouth. She wanted to yell. Couldn’t. She wanted to throw the ornate furniture that she could not touch. Couldn’t. She wanted to cry. Couldn’t.
Finally, she sat down on the tiling. Her mind was unraveling, no doubt. She must be at the hospital now. This must be the aftershock of the fall. This a dream. A Dream.
She stood up blankly. Well, if this is a dream, why not make the most of it? Her childish curiosity surfaced, and she began to poke around with interest. It seemed to her that the occupants spared no expense in acquiring fine furniture, porcelain, beadwork, embroidery, implements and vessels for their altars and ornaments. There was a seroni propped beside a table which a picture was laid. It was a blurred photograph of a Chinese wedding. (*note: seroni, a wind instrument, is only restricted to Chinese weddings).
She heard voices, remembering the two women. Cautiously, she ventured through the spacious rooms back to where she had found herself. Light now flooded the room and Melody could see the two women clearly. Both were wearing the kebayas complete with a sarong and beaded shoes (kasut manek). The beauty of this ethnic wear, Melody realised, was that it gave emphasis to a woman’s figure.
“It is hard, my dear friend,” the first woman was saying, and sighed. “That servant does not know how to listen to my instructions. The other time she starched my husband’s clothes too much and he spent his day scratching his neck as the collar was too stiff! The chauffeur too… he sent my girl to riding lessons and my boy to dance class. Doesn’t he have common sense!? Ever since I’m married to this family, I have to organise the household and make sure everything is spick and span. I do get respect, but it is tiring… With that devil of a mother-in-law Bibik, I have to be meek.” (*note: from this we can infer that women have much respect and is expected to run the household well after being married into the family)
“Yes, I know. My daughter is complaining that she does not get the attention she sought for from her husband. I told her that she must learn to run the household, and harness as much power in the family as she could. There is no hope for that husband of hers. He has many women outside. Although that is the case, my daughter still has to take care of him because it is her duty. I regret forcing my daughter to marry him two years ago…” (*note: from this we can infer that marriages were planned by parents in the past) said the second woman sadly.
The conversation became much more casual after, as if both women did not want to dwell on the resignation of their lives.
Some time later, the first women glanced at the clock. “It’s almost dinnertime! The servants should have prepared the food. My husband is out and my son is at boarding school. That old Bibik is out visiting her friends so I guess it’ll just be you and me…”
Melody followed in the two women’s wake as they ambled towards the dining room. One glance at the table sent Melody watering at the mouth.
There were many dishes and one which she identified as a bowl of Penang asam laksa (a spicy and sour noodle soup). As the women ate, they exchanged recipes and as Melody listend, she learnt the names of the savoury Peranakan cuisines she never knew. Peranakan specialties include otak-otak, a popular blend of fish, coconut milk, chilli paste, galangal, and herbs wrapped in a banana leaf; Ayam Buah Keluak, a distinctive dish combining chicken pieces with nuts from the Pangium edule or kepayang tree to produce a rich sauce; and Itek Tim, a classic soup containing duck, tomatoes, green peppers, salted vegetables, and preserved sour plums simmered gently together.
She made a point to try all these out when she returned. Suddenly a dreadful sentiment hit her. What if she never got back, in this case, woke up? Well, wouldn’t it be better? She would never have to meet that old crone of a mother again…
Just as she thought this, the door banged open. The resounding crash echoed through the house and both women dropped their cutlery.
-----THE END-----
WATCH OUT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER!!! There won't be a snippet this time if not it'll spoil the surprise... haha >:D
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-9:27 PM-
Melody:
HELLO!!! We have planned the topics on which we will touch on:
Similarities:
· Women were expected to marry well according to their parents’ wishes without complaining
· Women were expected to please their husbands
· Women were expected to take care of the household
· In the 21st century, the Babas face the same dilemmas and problems as other Chinese communities in Singapore and Malaysia--the decline of traditions, the inability to speak the dialect, the growing number of mixed marriages.
Differences
· Peranakan women were educated
· Their clothes the unique blend of cultural influences - Chinese, Malay, Indonesian and Western, an exuberant assortment of batik, embroidery, beadwork, silks, satins and organdie.
· The culture evolved from the descendants of the very early Chinese immigrants to the Nusantara region, including both the British Straits Settlements of Malaya and the Dutch-controlled island of Java among other places, who have partially adopted Malay customs in an effort (chronological adaptation) to be assimilated into the local communities.
· Unlike our local cuisine, Peranakan dishes are very different. Baba cuisine is a mixture of both Chinese and Malay influences.
· Women were treated with much respect when she is the head of the household.
· The Babas were masters of the popular 19th century Malay singing form – dodang sayang.
· The Babas have managed to maintain the refined 19th century customs and traditions of the Hokkien Chinese. Many of these practices no longer survive in China or in local Hokkien communities.
· Chinese women were by law not allowed to leave their native country until the middle of the 19th century
· The women are known as "Nyonyas". Older ladies are also known as "Bibiks". The men are known as “Babas”.
We will elaborate more on this points on alternate posts, between the story. To keep you on your toes, you see... =D
Love,
Melody
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Thursday, May 1, 2008
-9:40 PM-
Chapter 1
“You love him more than you do me.” A statement, not a question. Her eyes were defiant and staring.
“Preposterous!”
In Melody’s eyes, Mother, despite her indignant and irate outburst, was shifty, eyes jumping to anything but her daughter. Melody felt something in her break. Probably something that beat out the rhythm of her blood. She felt hollow. It was true.
“You always did. Don’t you always give in to him? Pamper him? And me, working as a SLAVE…”
“I will not tolerate this nonsense! Go to you room now and don’t come back until you’re sorry!”
She flounced into the room, slamming the door shut. As she buried herself in the dunes of the duvet, wracking with sobs, she heard the distinct click of the lock and knew she had been locked in her room. Resentment filled in her heart and threatened to claw out of her throat in the form of screaming. But no, she would not subject herself to this and humiliate herself to those uncaring persons segregated from her by a thin partition of wood. And what of it? Her mother would just ignore her, leave her to die even, for she loved Brother more. Her mother would blame anything but herself for allowing her daughter to die.
It’s not Me. It’s They. It’s the Bad Influence. It’s the Attitude. It’s the Noise. It’s because of the People. It’s the Negative Criteria in the Media. It’s the Money. It’s the Greed. It’s Satan. It’s God. It’s You. Whatever it is, it’s never Me. Therein lies the problem.
The incessant dissonance of disrupted insects, scaling the pretty, squat terraces on either side of the palm tree-lined avenue in which her house lay, reached her ears through the open window. “Escape, escape…” they told her, enticing her with beckoning freedom.
She had made up her mind. She would tear away from this miserable life. Hers was a three-storey terrace and there were ledges jutting out from each level. She estimated that she would be able to climb down without much difficulty.
Flinging open the window, she breathed in the promise of freedom. She had been filled with the umbrage and bitterness, now she felt numb; she could do anything. She placed one leg gingerly on the desk beside the table and climbed onto the windowsill, embracing the night zephyr drifting around and caressing her. A scent of a quiescent garden which surrounded the terrace – of familiar bougainvilleas, blooming begonias and rosebushes - draped in darkness wafted into her nostrils.
Cautiously, Melody turned her body to face her bedroom, stretching one leg and placing it on the ridge jutting from about half a metre from the window, followed by the other leg. When both feet were firmly planted on the ridge, she lowered her body to a crouch and looked to see where the other ledge was. This was a little trickier. The distance was a few inches more then she could manage.
Her heart starting to flutter in fright, she extended her right leg and stretched as much as she could. Her big toe managed to reach touch the cement. She tensed the other leg and hesitating for a heartbeat, she pushed herself from the first ledge, meaning to land on the second one.
For a second, relief flooded her entire frame as both feet touched terra firma. Then fear seized her as she felt her feet slip from the ledge and suddenly, she was falling.
They say that before one dies, one’s life flashes before one. Melody’s life did. It lasted for about a second – she regretted spending her short life on building the big ball of hatred towards her mom. Her mind was confused, spinning out of control until there was only room for one question…
Why did she always treat me like she did?
Why did she always treat me…?
Why did she always…?
Why what?
Why? Why? Why?
Darkness claimed her.
the butterfly wing symbolises the freedom she will never have
-----LOOK OUT FOR CHAPTER TWO!!!-----
Snippet:
No pain.
She listened to the silence. She was perfectly alone. She was not perfectly sure whether she was there herself.
It occurred to her that she must exist, for she was lying on some sort of tiling. As this sentiment came through, her eyes opened wide. She found herself in a dark living room of sorts, with elaborate furniture. They all seemed like one of those antiques that you go to a shop to buy for fillling your house with and bragging to relatives about such and such.
Standing, she found that she was clothed in the garments she wore when she… what? She could not seem to remember. Jump, something about jumping.
Giving up the pursue of her train of thought, she began to explore, stunned that her feet made no sound when she traversed the marble tiling.
Suddenly she was aware of a presence. It had been dark and she had not sensed the woman, but now she sighted her. To Melody’s astonishment, she wore a traditional costume, something called… a kebaya. She had dark skin, but in the blackness, everything was dark. Her face was a stunning blend of Chinese and Malay.
“I am sorry! I didn’t mean to, I don’t know how I came here-” gabbled Melody.
The woman did not seem to have noticed. She continued picking her way delicately towards Melody. As she became uncomfortably close, Melody stepped back awkwardly and realised there was another woman a few steps behind her, dressed exactly the same, albeit with her hair in a bun and the kebaya a pale blue with different intricate patterns.
Suddenly she felt an odd sensation in her body and looked down. To her shock and fear, a hand from the first woman had extended into her body through to the other side to grasp the other woman’s hand! But there was no pain.
“Chiak pah boey?” said the first woman. Both females did not seem to have noticed Melody, let alone noticing that a hand was run through her body.
Melody screamed but no sound came. Wildly, she backed away, and found that her body just floated through the flesh of the two women. Thoroughly freaked out, her eye caught a photograph hanging on a nearby wall. In big capitalised words on top of the picture, it read: “In remembrance of the 80s-90s 20 years later – taken yesterday”.
Horror.
-----------
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Friday, April 25, 2008
-2:45 PM-
Melody:
Hello everyone! This is an introduction to our blog dedicated to the Peranakans. We have created this blog because as our school is Peranakan, we learned many intriguing things about the Straits-born Chinese's heritage, and we want others to know more about this interesting subject. It all started when we were assigned PW (project work) and were supposed to create a product that teaches people about Peranakan heritage. Then this idea blossomed and we created this page! It is to be simple yet captivating for our readers to learn more about Peranakans(:
Here is an introduction to Peranakans:
The word Peranakan means 'local born' in Malay. The Peranakan Chinese are descendants of Chinese traders who settled in Malacca and around the coastal areas of Java and Sumatra as early as the 14th century and married local women. In the 19th century, the Peranakan Chinese, drawn by trade, migrated to the thriving ports of Penang and Singapore. They have a unique hybrid culture, which is still part of Singapore's heritage.
Upcoming...
We decided to write a story with information embedded in the plot. Here is the summary of it:
A girl is unhappy with the mother who always treats her son better. She argues with her mother one day and her mother, very furious, locks her in her room. Trying to escape full of resentment in her heart, the girl opens the window and attempts to climb down from the third storey. She loses her footing and just when she thinks her time is up, she opens her eyes to find herself in unfamiliar territory.
She later finds out she is in a Peranakan household in the 80s, yet she is like a ghost, unable to communicate with the residents. She watches the way of life of them, and learns a lot. When night falls, the girl closes her eyes. The next time she opens them, she find herself in a Chinese household, still ghost-like, and in the 80s. She watches their way of life, and is astounded by how it differs from Peranakans. She realises the privileges she had taken for granted in her current life , and wants badly to return to her time, and apologise to her mother. Will she be able to?
This story tells of the diferences from the past and present Peranakans, and how the culture differs from our Chinese heritage. Make sure to look out for it!
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