Story telling....Part I

Once upon a time, there was 2 brothers living in Hainan Island, china. They were born in 1902 and 1906. Elder brother was single while the younger brother was married but childless. It was said that life in Nanyang was good and so these brothers wanted to give life a try for better living. After they saved enough money for the journey, the two ventured out, leaving behind a wife, relatives and their home. They were the first 2 person to leave the village for another country to pursue their dreams. That was perhaps early 1930's and they were in their twenties.


Chinese women in those days had no status in the family. They had no place to say about anything and all they did were house chores and farming. Even when their husband were leaving them, all they could do were wait, hoping that someday, he would come back.


It took them more than one week to across the ocean and reach a place called Malacca. So life was indeed better in Nanyang. After maybe for about a decade, the younger brother managed to save up enough money to buy a shop and opened a coffee shop. In between, he met another woman. She was 17 years younger than him. They fell in love, got married and gave birth to 3 beautiful children. One girl, being the eldest and 2 boys. It was the time of their lives. They were living well, happy and financially good. It was around 1947.

Life and fate like to play jokes on us. It could never leave us like we are. Not long later, the husband fell sick. During that time, medical information was so lacked behind that public was not aware of diseases and plague. By the time the diagnosis was confirmed, he was suffering from final stage of tubercolusis. There was no hope of survival. The diseases has taken a lot of lives and it was contagious. He had to be hospitalised and quarantined while his wife and his brother managed the business for him.

One day, suddenly the wife collapsed. She was taken to the hospital, fainted but breathing steadily. Her brother-in-law and her kids were with her. As the story was told, a doctor came soon after she was admitted. Then he gave a shot. Just one injection. After a few minutes, she passed away, leaving behind her sick husband and 3 loving children. They were 5, 3 and 1 years old individually. That was 1949 and she was only 27.

The doctors were incompetent. Those were the norm during the old days. It was believed that the doctor had concluded a wrong diagnosis and the wrong medication was given to her which took her life instantly at that time of emergency. They never told the diagnosis to the family, nor did they explained what happened. They just left the family who were in great grief and anger. Hence, a funeral was held.

The elder brother could not take care of the business, the 3 children and his sick younger brother by himself. He decided to stop the business. He sold the shop and with the money, he took the 3 children back to China, back to his home and bought a house there. His first sister-in-law who was living in China alone all these while, moved in to take care of the children. This was the first time the children got to know their stepmother. The elder brother went back to Malacca. From Malacca, he brought his sick brother back to home. Then, he went back to Malacca for good.

In the new house, the sick brother had a room by himself. The children were not allowed to enter the room, to be near their father and they never did. For a few years, he fought fiercely against the illness and finally when the diseases got the better of him, he passed away. During the crucial time, the children were taken to house of relatives and the house was left vacant for sometime even after his burial. They believed the virus was still in the house. His children were aged 9, 7 and 5. That was 1953.


Both their parents died when they were very young.







Life went on.


After 5 years, the child who was once 7 years old was now 12. He was studying in a boarding school, some distance away from home, taking his first national elementary exam papers, mathematics, when he received a message. He was required to go back home immediately because he would be leaving the next day to Malacca.

In the old days, children attended schools according to their chinese dialects origin. Hainanese will attend Hainan school where the entire syllabus would be taught in Hainan Language and nothing else. The common language is their dialects. No mandarin was taught. They only know how to read and speak Hainan language.

In 1958, Malaya was gaining independence. The authority stated that for those who were born in Malaya but had left the country were given a specific time frame to come back for the citizenship. Their uncle in Malacca got hold of the news. He made arrangements to bring the children back to Malaya but he was short of money. Somehow in those days, all the chinese were connected. When one person planned to go back china for a visit, the news would go thru the region and people would ask that person to bring goods and money to their parents and families back home. Amazing, wasn't it??

Just then, a singaporean was going back to Hainan Island to see his parents. The uncle have money enough for only one child to make the trip. He requested the singaporean, being his middleman to bring his oldest nephew to Malacca. The 12 years old lad.

The child went back home immediately and started packing as he has to reach the messenger's house early next morning. He woke up at 5am and his life long journey started. From dusk, they walked. After 6hours of walking, they reached a city at noon. They were living in a remote village. There were no transport in the rural area. They had to get to the city, be in time to get a bus to reach the harbour as the ship was leaving in the afternoon.

After a week, the child arrived safely in Malacca. Life was getting harder. Almost immediately, he started working as a coffee shop assistant at the young age of 12. He did not attend the local school because he could not understand a single word in English, Malay and even mandarin. However, his uncle enrolled him into the night school to learn chinese language in Mandarin, which is considered the most important thing to a chinaman, starting from primary 1 again.

After about a year, his uncle had enough money for another arrangement. This time it was his younger brother to come. The priority was given to boys and so his sister has to wait. Time was against them. By the time enough money was collected for the third arrangement, it was another year again. The period had expired. Malaysia had closed its door and no citizenship shall be granted. So their sister has to stay in china with her stepmother and holds the republic of China's citizenship.


The children were separated. For life.

The younger brother was 11 years old when he reached Malacca. He had to work too. Similar to his brother, he also went to the same night school learning chinese all over again in Mandarin. They lived together in a small rented room in a house full of occupants like them. Life was like a tv show then. Numerous families stayed in the same house, each family occupying a room and everyone was working hard to make ends meet. Their uncle was 52 years old.





A few years later, the younger brother moved out to work in other places. Then it was only the elder brother and their uncle. Eventually, the uncle stopped working after sometime. In the fifties, income of a coffee shop assistant were $40 where $20 would be for his rented room. There would be only $20 left for the living of one uncle and his nephew.


Life is ironic. If their parents didn't die so young, they would have good lives and the family would be living together. They could have proper education, have decent jobs and maybe even live wealthily. Owning a shop and having your own business in the 40's is not an easy thing. A decade after their death, their sons worked in coffee shops similar to theirs. Sad, isnt it?

Don't you wish things could be different for them?? Stay tuned for Part II. Coming up..... ^_^