December 8, 2005
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Took a slow drive up north to Penang over the weekend for Cheong Heng and Guik Choon’s 25th Anniversary dinner. Mum came along. The evening, which was a reunion of sorts, kicked off with a rousing sing-along of Great Is Thy Faithfulness, a hymn that is also a personal favourite.It was good meeting up with old friends as well.
We were treated to a brief power-point flashback to the years gone by, in black and white mostly, when our hair was thicker, our eyes brighter. 25 years is a long time in our throwaway society and I know the couple have had their ups and downs. But God has been good to them. So it was great seeing them celebrate their journey this far, growing old together, their two children at their side. Cheong Heng and Guik Choon renewed their vows, while John Coltrane played. I think there is no finer tribute than that paid to the couple by their son Zach who gave a word of thanks and said that seeing his parents now, he wants what they have. Wish I have photos right now - hope to upload some if and when I get them soon.
We stayed in Penang for a couple more days after the dinner. Cheong Heng told us about a Tsunami Beach Café, a beachfront seafood restaurant operated by local fisher folk who lost their homes in last year's tragedy. But what a bummer – they close on Mondays, and we quickly rerouted our little dinner party to a quaint nyonya joint in the city. Good food, good conversation with my wife Sook Ching’s friends whom we had not seen in a while.
Decided to take the ferry to the mainland on the way home, the sun beating down, and gulls in the sky. Couldn’t help feeling a little nostalgic thinking how such a ride was so much a thrill when I was knee high.
Visited Alor Star to say hello to the in-laws. Drove by our old house. It was part of a row of wooden terrace houses that has amazingly remained almost unchanged all these years.Somewhere deep within the recesses of my memory, something clicked and I instinctively I pointed to No. 22B and piped up: "There, that's our house." We lived there until I was 5 or 6 I think, until a massive blaze reduced adjacent rows to cinders, and Dad said it was time to move . How do you explain a thing like this, remembering the house number so far removed in time and space?
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