Mumbles. My mumbles. I mumble a lot.

This is a revelation.

I'm a mixture of a quite an array of oriental blood. Directly speaking, my mom was from Kelantan, and dad was born in Singapore. There were quite some rumours that my mom's side have a bit Siamese relation to it, but so far no recorded proof of that has ever been produced (as this rumour did arrive to me per my father, this "gossip" was hardly a surprise).

Then again, the Kelantanese have always been an interesting bunch, aren't they? Someone dear to me once said "Being in Kelantan was like stepping in another country,". That pretty much sums it up, in my opinion. They have their own version of laksa, and they stuff squid with sticky rice. And eat them with palm sugar syrup (not the laksam though, fools. Use some common sense). Odd to some, delicious to me.  And they call it "Jajahan" when the rest of the country prefers the term "Daerah" The Kelantanese side of me has always been a humble bunch, not show-offy. I'm proud of this really, so I do try to speak the dialect, but this practice is strictly reserved to friends and friends only. Attempting this to members of the family will spark an eternity of mockery, something that I (nor anyone) could tolerate.

Now my father's side. Though he was born and raised in Singapore, my ancestors originate from the southern part of the island of Borneo. Banjarmasin, Kalimantan Selatan. Yes, you've guessed it. I'm also Banjarese. Very much unlike my maternal side, my father's side is, how do I put this gently, adventurous. Tales of great great grandfathers travelling to foreign lands, trying to strike it big somewhere, somehow. Their stories of migration and making it big on the tiny island of Singapore was even documented in a book:

I think that when I last saw the draft of this book, I did see me mentioned discreetly somewhere. I'm not quite sure if I made it to the final published edition though. But enough vanity. The Banjarese was not known of their pride, thus when they traveled to many parts of the malayan archipelago, they tend to assimilate with the locals and surroundings. Sadly, their language dissolve too. So you see many banjarese outside south of Kalimantan can't even speak the language. And so was I. And most of my family too. In fact the youngest member of my family (that I know of) who does speak Banjarese is my aunt. Which is a pity.

Now why do I decide to bring this up all of a sudden?

2 things. First, I was kind of hooked by the BBC program "Who do You Think You Are?" where celebrities track their down their ancestries, and I was amazed by the whole concept of genealogy. I enjoyed the one about Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, the most.



Another thing I discovered with this program is, it is such a pity that the Malayan archipelago was introduced to the system of handwriting and record-keeping SO late in the turn of the century. If not, imagine the stories we could have uncovered.

Second, I discovered this:


My late grandfather used to sing this to me and my sister before we went to bed, when I was really little. And it certainly brought back some great memories with it. For your info, "Ampar Ampar Pisang" is a banjarese folk song. Pity I can't understand much of it though.

So if one was to ask me where do I come from, I can't really answer that now can I?

(Footnote: "Gedung Kuning"'s official website: http://www.gedungkuning.com/index.htm)

It all started off wrong from the start for me today. So bad in fact it induced a headache, the sort that is resulted from, you guessed it, stress. The sort that I hate the most.

But at the end of the day, it was all better. Though the problems encountered are not fully dealt with, I really would like to express gratitude to those around me.

Those who picked up my calls when I needed them most. Those closest of friends and best of friends.

And those who basically had contact with me today. Your presence has helped tremendously.

(I could think of about 10 names that helped me today. You'd know if you're one of them)

I've avoided it as much as I can. But alas, I am only human.

I've succumbed. And those that I fear most, those that I've foreseen, is now before my eyes.

Though it's not like I didn't see this coming.

That moment in life.

When you feel like you live to serve others, or to fulfill expectations of not your own, but those other than you. And then being told what to do.

The belief is the majority hates the idea mentioned above. Admittedly, some prefers it, for they are of the opinion that it simplifies matters. The harsh reality is not many took it upon themselves to alter the reality. And sadly, many more are powerless, unable to change the situation, despite them wanting badly to.

There exists a fine line between being told what to do, and being guided there. An argument that some needs the autocratic feeling, is hereby justified. Yet, unfair it still is (much like many more concepts that exist in the world).

If there is any point that one could his finger on the solution, is maturity. And one blames it upon himself that he shows the lack thereof, or perhaps wrongly showing what he thought was his idea of "maturity". The bitter pill and humble pie, again, swallowed.

Impression. Of your own towards others.