Not in control

Towards the end of Jalan Sembang, Penny Ng’s journey came to an end. She couldn’t really figure out those road signs. Like it was all in an alien language after the last one that said Lorong Hantu Dedap. In front of the tembusu trees, two dishevelled dogs wagged their tails and proceeded on their way.

Close up, she tilted her head upwards, stifled a gasp, and breathed in the broad white facade and columns fronting the house. This building contrasted with the surrounding estate—the neighboring terrace houses were situated in standard rows, like immovable, uniform-looking prefabricated toy cars that looked identical to each other. Unless the owner was a prominent member of the community, he wouldn’t be living in a unique house like this.

Opening the giant wooden door, a man wearing a tailored shirt and a sarong around his waist greeted Penny. He turned out to be uncle Joe Tay. This guy was quite a sight. In Singapore, the only men Penny knew who walked around in public with something wrapped around their waist this way were generally foreign construction workers on their off-days, when they spoke into their mobile phone, ambling around the residential estates and sitting on the sidewalks—gazing at the gates of the houses that they had perhaps built.

“You’re Penny?” The man scanned her from head to toe. “The last time I saw you, you were a screaming toddler, running between the talking adults standing in my house.”

“Yes.” Penny wondered if she should shake his hand, make a Namaste pose. Or if any other form of bowing or gesture was appropriate. Some traditional chinese families are rigidly hierarchical, with younger generations minding their words and actions in front of the elderly, especially the man of the house.

Penny learned that this house was old. To enter it, the local custom required her to remove her footwear. She removed her worn-out Skechers sandals and placed them on the open layout shoe cabinet, which must have at least fifty other pairs of shoes. The various types and purposes of those footwear ranging from clogs, loafers, sneakers and platform shoes suggest that they belong not to visitors, but to the residents.

The spacious anteroom was breezy, in part owing to the overhead ceiling fans with rotating broad blades. Penny's tiredness disappeared. There was poetry here—the carelessness of a laid-back household and the grand structure of an artifice that screamed patriarchy.

“Come in and follow me. Imagine you coming all the way here on your own. Did you have a good trip?”

Joe wasn't aware that Penny travelled extensively on her own.

“Uncle, it’s wonderful and bizarre,” Penny said. “Like stepping into another world from Singapore.” She couldn't get past how he'd dressed. Was that meant to be authentic? It seemed like something from a guide to eccentricity.

“There’s lots of rubber plantations nearby,” Joe said. “My grandfather and father had one. This is all old money.”

“What do you do for work?” Penny felt the coldness of the marble beneath her feet.

“We’re in the tin export business,” Joe said. “I’m sixty-two now, so I’m glad to have deputies doing most of the routine work now. Today, I wanted to be here when you arrive. We’re all excited to meet you.”

“I’m thrilled to meet everyone and see this place, too.” Penny wasn’t sure she was sincere, her heart was heavy, knowing what the purpose of her visit was.

“Are you hungry? We have a meal prepared.”

Penny smiled. Was this a variant of the Have you eaten? Or of the Cantonese version Sek pau mei? These were common Chinese greetings in this part of the world.

“That’s very generous of you,” Penny said. “I am grateful for all this hospitality.”

“Don’t need to be so polite. We are relatives, since your mother is my sister.”

A scrawny, tanned Chinese lady appeared in the doorway of the next room. Penny introduced herself to this woman, who happened to be Joe’s wife. She handed a glass of water to Penny. Though her face was distracting—her left eye twitched every other sentence, this woman had a soft, reassuring voice. Penny started chatting with her after the usual pleasantries, fascinated with her mandarin intonation with the Malaysian twang.

“Did you see the little lane to the left of the property earlier?” Joe’s wife leaned forward.

“No, why?”

“Take a look later, it leads to the beach. We’d all spent a lot of time by the palm trees and the white sand when our children were young. Now, I still take long walks there. It’s a different kind of life from that in Singapore.”

“Do you come to Singapore much?” Penny responded.

“Once a year or so.” She arranged a strand of hair back over her ear. “I know what you have. East Coast Park, Pasir Ris, Sentosa—these aren’t the same. Nothing like the serenity here.”

Nothing like the crime here, too. “I’d love to see the beach here. If time permits.” Penny likely wouldn’t have time that day.

“We treasure all this privacy. The beach is relatively untouched. But two hundred miles to the south, you’ll start to see the commercialised side of Malaysia, where they are building a new Club Med resort.”

“Let’s sit at the table,” Joe suggested. Because of the phone conversation earlier with Penny, he was aware of Penny’s plan to return to Singapore later in the day.

Then Penny saw her. Seated at the other side of the round table, a silly grin on her face, her long hair combed back, was a woman Penny was all too familiar with: her mother.

At this dinner table, Penny was not meant to sit next to her mother. The nearest empty seat was separated from her by two seats, already occupied by Joe and his wife. Two Chinese young men, and a woman, looking like they were all in their twenties, were seated on the other side of Penny’s mother. The young people couldn't be more different—one was stout with tailored shirt and suspenders; his brother wore a plain t-shirt with one word printed on the front, "irony," and their bespectacled sister, a cold shoulder rib-knit tee, who giggled for no apparent reason.

***

A slim, fair middle-aged Chinese servant—Penny guessed—stepped into the dining room. It was common to have domestic help in Malaysia. This woman approached the heavy oak table in the room with a steady gait, her slippers made a slapping sound on the floor. Why is she wearing slippers? Rheumatism? Nodding to the others, she balanced a claypot between her arthritic fingers. The whiff of fragrance emanated from the pot of rice when she opened the cover. Ballooning steam rushed out as if from a boiling kettle, circumfusing the room.

“That’s nasi lemak,” Joe remarked. “We also have home made freshly cut chillies.”

Penny knew that. Coconut-flavored rice, often eaten with fried ikan bilis, chicken wings and cucumber.

“Smells really good.” Penny surveyed the dishes on the table. Ikan tumis curry (fish seasoned in a reddish, spicy sauce), sotong kangkong (squid fried tossed with water spinach) and o-chien (oyster omelette), among others. The soup smelled exotic—it turned out on closer examination to be pak ko yee mei (gingko nuts and barley). She was famished, having had nothing to eat hours since the earlier Chee Cheong Fun at the bus station.

It was as if Joe wanted to show off the culinary prowess of rural or suburban Malaysia. Penny didn’t know the difference.

“How do you feel about working in an ang moh workplace all these years?” Joe started the conversation.

Start of an uncomfortable topic, though not the most uncomfortable one. “Florida’s nice. I've learned quite a bit.”

“Still, it is not like home? America’s materialistic. Here, we act for the community, and place family first.”

Penny was astounded. She drew in a deep breath. “Well, I guess you’re right.”

“My sister loves it here,” Joe said. “It’s been a year.”

Then why don’t you let her talk. Turning to May, Penny relaxed her tone. “How are you?”

“Thanks for asking. Why didn’t you write to me?” May replied, her gaze punching through her daughter rather than stopping at Penny’s face.

“I,—” Penny said. “I’m busy with organising things. You know paperwork, stuffs with lawyers—”

“You don’t have to bother.” May placed her hands on her laps, her mouth pouted in a skittish way.

“Oh, yeah. Who should then? These nice folks here in Malaysia?”

May stared, unblinking. “Don't. Stop what you're doing. You're not trying to rescue me, are you? Would you prefer to see me staying in the mental health institute?”

Of course May loved it here. Springing off from Singapore into Joe's household meant May would be instantly in the upper echelons of local society. Her mother was shallow that way.

Joe reached for the vegetables with a pair of chopsticks, so he wasn’t looking at Penny when he talked. “I think we have established that May is better off with family. Since your sister is unable to look after her, it’s best that May stays here.”

Penny stopped her chewing and swallowed. Her heart rate increased. She had too many questions. What about medical care? Who prescribed the psychiatric medications? What happened when May relapsed into depression?

That sinking feeling started again—a reminder to Penny that she wasn’t in control of her destiny—that despite her will and her training and everything she had accomplished in Florida, these people here weren’t obliged to consider her views. To them, Penny was nothing more than the husk of a starfish, naked and dried up on the beach. Still, Penny wouldn’t want to show her anger. She wanted to focus on the idea that these people felt they had to do something for May to help her. Even if they were mistaken, they acted according to what they thought was best. Given the cultural differences and how these people were controlled by the ghosts of the past, Penny had to recalibrate her approach.

She jutted her chin, her shoulders tensed. “With all due respect, sir. That’s not a given. That is not something that we’d all agreed upon.” As soon as her words emerged, that felt terrible, like a lone soldier juggling false pride, hoping against hope behind enemy lines.

“Regardless.” Joe’s wife, who had been silent for most of the conversation, decided to chip in. “We must abide by May’s wishes. Mustn’t we?”