angeline v teo - armourbooks with world renowned gurus such as deepak chopra, stephen covey, jack...
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WH
ER
E D
O I
BE
GIN
?A
NG
EL
INE
V T
EOISBN 978-981-48-0763-0
ISBN: 978-981-48-0763-0
9 789814 807630
Where Do I Begin? is an honest and revealing account of Angeline V Teo’s journey from grief and heartache to self-discovery. Beneath her vibrant and positive exterior lies a determined woman who has weathered personal and public storms to emerge stronger than ever. Angeline continues to inspire many with her indomitable spirit and unwavering faith, embracing all that life has to give her.
“Where do I begin?” is a question a lot of women wrestle with and ask themselves after going through some challenges in certain seasons of their lives. This book encourages women to never let their stories end with a period but start something new from where they may have left off.
Monique OngManaging Director
AnOunceofFaith.comPhilippines
Angeline bares her heart and soul and takes you on a journey she hopes will help you rise up, just as she did.
Yvonne Low Founder/Group Executive Director
The Traveller DMC Pte Ltd and The Traveller Malaysia Sdn Bhd
Angeline’s perseverance, tenacity and unwavering determination to rise above adversities are outstanding traits that make her autobiography a must-read!
Dr June LiauPartner of Liau, Ho & Chan
Solicitors & NotariesHong Kong
Angeline V Teo is an award-winning executive coach. She is fondly known as the “Workplace Doctor” where she transforms lives, helps executives to stay in control and achieve work-life harmony. She has also co-authored three books with world renowned gurus such as Deepak Chopra, Stephen Covey, Jack Canfield, Brian Tracy and Ken Blanchard. She travels extensively as a professional international speaker and manages two organisations.
W H E R E
D O
I B E G I N ?
A n o r d i n a r y w o m a n w i t h a n e x t r a o r d i n a r y s t o r y
A N G E L I N E V T E O
Praise for Where Do I Begin?
Where Do I Begin is not only about Angeline’s life story but serves as a testimony of my friend’s struggle through life and how it has made her what she is today. In her very depths of despair, Angeline’s indomitable spirit shines through and her grit and determination is testimony to the lengths that she would go through to protect those dearest to her. To say that she is a self-made person will not do justice to who Angeline is today. For she is more than the sum of her struggles and her relentless pursuit of happiness and stability is also not a selfish one as she pays it forward to those around her. The insights that she has provided through this intimate sharing of her struggles and triumphs is nothing short of inspirational.
Susan Goh Section Head & Senior Lecturer
Temasek Polytechnic Singapore
Many women can find their stories intertwined with Angeline’s. “Where do I begin?” is a question a lot of women wrestle with and ask themselves after going through some challenges in certain seasons of their lives. Angeline gives us hope as she writes her life story. Everyone must look back and appreciate humble beginnings, look through every courageous act to succeed with the resilience to withstand failures and hardships; and look forward to accomplish their purpose and find their destiny. This book encourages women to never let their stories end with a period but start something new from where they may have left off.
Monique Ong Managing Director
AnOunceofFaith.com Philippines
I have known Angeline since the 90s and have seen nothing but benevolence and talent in her. She is constantly imparting her wisdom and transforming lives.
If I had to choose a single word to describe her it would be ‘eagle’—Angeline overcomes, soars above headwinds and rises above whatever comes her way.
In this book, Angeline bares her heart and soul and takes you on a journey she hopes will help you rise up, just as she did.
Yvonne Low Founder/Group Executive Director
The Traveller DMC Pte Ltd and The Traveller Malaysia Sdn Bhd
Angeline’s perseverance, tenacity and unwavering determination to rise above adversities are outstanding traits that make her autobiography a must-read! It takes real and great courage to be so transparent about the hidden, painful and wrenching secrets of your life. I admire her unselfish willingness to be open so others may benefit, succeed and excel.
Dr June Liau Partner of Liau, Ho & Chan
Solicitors & Notaries Hong Kong
A truly inspirational journey penned. A colourful account of one’s life experiences so far. A blessing indeed for all who have encountered her.Angeline is a shining example of bravery and persistence.
She has touched many lives, including my own. God willing,
a sequel please.
Rebecca Chin Founder
DRC Business Solutions Malaysia
Enriched with self-revealing life stories, and a taste of Singapore’s culture and history, these charmingly simple chapters are affirmations of the power of a woman’s will and strength.
In this delightful autobiography, Angeline tells her story with wit, grace and elegance. A must-read for women of all
ages!
Dr Afsoon Ghazvinian Founder
REIVAS Pte Ltd Singapore
In an honest and revealing account, Angeline brings us through her pivotal life experiences—the triumphs, struggles and failures. As the Chinese proverb goes, “To appreciate water, you must know its source”, Angeline retraces the roots of her childhood and formative years to uncover the sources of her entrepreneurial spirit and tenacious can-do attitude. Being a young newlywed woman in her early career, I could identify with the young Angeline facing similar struggles and apply the life lessons and nuggets of wisdom she imparts throughout the book. A truly inspirational read.
Melissa Chan Investment Analyst
Singapore
Angeline’s stories unveil the depth of her strength, with all their drama and intensity. She invites us to embrace upheaval and shows us how we can discover new growth in every transition, no matter how awkward the journey is. Her formula to let go and not fear losing anything at all, but view every upheaval as a graced encounter will hopefully lead others to work on renewal. These are stories of great courage, written lightly although the subject is far from light!
Christina Lim Head of Communications
B Braun Singapore
W H E R E D O
I B E G I N ?
A N G E L I N E V T E O
An ordinary woman with an extraordinary story
Copyright © Angeline Teo 2019
Published by Armour PublishingBlock 1003 Bukit Merah Central #02-07 Singapore 159836Email : [email protected] [email protected] : www.armourpublishing.com
23 22 21 20 19
5 4 3 2 1
All rights reserved.No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Publisher.
Printed in Singapore
ISBN 978-981-48-0763-0 (Paperback)ISBN 978-981-48-0771-5 (Hardcover)
National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data
Name(s) : Teo, Angeline V.Title : Where do I begin? : an ordinary woman with an
extraordinary story / Angeline V Teo.Description : First edition. | Singapore : Armour Publishing, [2019]Identifier(s) : OCN 1056701802 | ISBN 978-981-48-0763-0 (paperback)
| ISBN 978-981-48-0771-5 (hardback)Subject(s) : LCSH: Teo, Angeline V. | Teo, Angeline V--Childhood and youth. | Teo, Angeline V--Personal narratives. | Women--Singapore--Biography.Classification : DDC 305.4092--dc23
To my two lovely daughters, Sherrianne and Cherylanne—
God’s greatest gifts to me
xiiiPROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONEThe Pre-Beginning
1My Roots and DNA
... where I inherited my bold and fearless
mentality from...
21My Childhood Years
... how those years were my foundation to
becoming more resilient later in life...
26Interesting
Personalities
... where I learnt how to live harmoniously
amidst chaos...
32
First Encounter with Death
... what is living without knowing what is dying...
36
Starting School
... where good friends and memories were made...
CHAPTER TWOGoing into the
Real World
46
Work Experiences
... the good, the bad and the ugly...
56
Together with the Pains Come the Gains
... I learnt that I have more to gain when I persevere through
the pain...
CONTENTS
59
Headhunted
... a blessing in disguise...
77
Transitional Retirement
... embracing change is the game...
78
The Painful Truth About People
... be prepared at all times as nothing lasts forever...
CHAPTER THREELike Being in a
Fairy-Tale
82
Being Naïve and Gullible
... love is blind and blinded by love...
88
Fairy-Tale Marriage
... in love with the idea of love...
94
Honeymoon’s Over
... when the nightmare starts...
96
My Escape
... delusion or distraction...
98
Juggling Act
... motherhood to masterhood and all the stress in between...
103
Maids Saga— Domestic Helpers
... caused or eased the disruptions...
112
Living on the Edge
... pushing the breaking point, and wondering where to next...
CHAPTER FOURSecond Chance
128
Love Life Cycle
... where is the beginning...where is the ending...
138
Conquering Our Dreams Together
... we are trusting that we can get this right, second time...
139
Challenges as a Step-Mother
... it’s not easy to be a mother, let alone
a step-mother...
CHAPTER FIVEEntrepreneurial
Journey
143
My First Start-Ups
... nothing ventured, nothing gained...
163
Failures and Finding the Right Combinations
... in search of the right formula, if there is one to begin with...
CHAPTER SIXOne Day at a Time
166
Leave It in the Hands of the Lord
... do your best and leave the rest to Divine
interventions...
167
Framing and Planning
... never start out without a plan and the right
frame of mind to win...
169
Living out of a Suitcase
... f ly and reach out for the skies; it is limitless...
169
Where Do I Begin, 55 and Beyond...
... doing what I want, when I want with what I have. My life has just begun...
177
Vision 2022
... God willing, I will achieve my dreams...
179EPILOGUE
181WHAT OTHERS SAY ABOUT ANGELINE
196ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am not a woman extraordinaire. Like many women,
I wear many hats. Each day, I go out acting the role
of a mother, a career woman, a boss at work, a wife,
an eldest daughter, an elder sister, a friend and a next-
door neighbour. Perhaps this is something that you can
relate with—we both struggle to fulfil all these roles
the best we can.
We may even share similar dreams and desires.
As we were growing up, we may have been thoroughly
influenced by the media to believe that there are endless
possibilities to meet our Prince Charming, have a fairy-
tale wedding dressed in our best and live happily ever
PROLOGUE
“ A journey with many turns.
Where do I begin? ”
xiv WHERE DO I BEGIN?
after. At the age of 14, perhaps we cannot see past our
limited imagination.
Without sufficient experience and exposure to
relationships, I fell in love with the idea of love, like
in some of the poetries I read from Thomas Hardy.
Thomas Hardy was born in 1840 and had dedicated his
life to writing lyric poetry and novels. He is acclaimed
worldwide as one of the best Victorian novelists, and
wrote a vast collection of poems.
The emotions felt right and good at that moment.
Nothing else mattered, except the feeling of being
loved and being in love with someone, anyone, really...
Well, not quite anyone, as I always imagined my
partner as one who was tall and handsome. Dark was
not quite in the equation as I was very fair.
I wanted to rush into marrying a good man who
could take care of my needs and whom I could live
happily ever after with. I was forgiving of any flaws
I saw. I was blinded, possibly, by what the future, if any,
held. I was a dreamer.
I envisioned having a smooth-sailing career. I was
ambitious and gullible at the same time, thinking that
I would get the positions I wanted easily. I did not have
sufficient exposure to the outside world at 19, when
I started my first official job in the corporate world.
I was so naïve.
I had aspired to live out a happy reverie where
my loved ones were freed of all pain and suffering. In
xvPROLOGUE
my opinion, I had a very happy and simple childhood.
I never had to worry about food or money. I was never
in need of attention or love. I was pure and innocent in
my thoughts.
I always dreamt of having a good starting point and
for everything to be perfect. I am an optimist and have
been one since I was a child. I enjoyed growing up in
a kampong and also relished the time spent when
my family moved to an apartment as I got older. The
tide only changed after I started working and when
I had a steady boyfriend at 16.
Life in the kampong and apartment was very
carefree as there were few things to worry about. Once
I started working, my family no longer protected me
and I was exposed to many new things. I felt small and
lost in an unfamiliar environment. I no longer felt safe.
Since then, reality has hit me like a ton of bricks; I had
to dodge many curveballs and, in some instances, I have
had to start over in life; again… and again… and again…
I am 55 this year, but some things just never change.
I sometimes battle with the emotional baggage that
I have had to carry with me over the years. I struggle
at times with the outcomes, which may not be ideal,
despite my efforts to make things perfect right from
the beginning. I beat myself up in silence and cry
myself to sleep. I sometimes feel sad and choose to
relieve the pain with a song. Most days, a worship
xvi WHERE DO I BEGIN?
song is able to help lift me up from my sorrows. Often,
I ask, “Why me, again?”
Sometimes, I feel like giving up.
How much more can I take?
How many more sacrifices should I make? I am only
human, after all.
When I attempt to piece together the 55 years of
life so far in this book, I struggle because there are too
many beginnings. I smile when I recall some and I cry
when I talk about others with a heavy heart.
A new day signifies a new beginning, a moment we
look forward to. Brimming with hope, we bask in the
sunshine to forget about the grime of yesterday. We tell
ourselves we can start anew, but how do we open up a
new chapter without knowing how to close the one that
came before it?
Every morning, I wake up thankful that I am still
breathing. I kneel as I say my prayers at my altar, to
thank the Creator, Almighty God, for giving me another
chance to start the day afresh and leave yesterday
behind. I pray for forgiveness for the things that I have
done or not done; to ask for strength to go about the
day; to have the wisdom to make the right decisions
and to pray for the people I love and those who need
my prayers as well. These I ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Nothing goes to waste with every step that I have
taken, every mistake that I have made and every failure
that has been presented to me.
xviiPROLOGUE
I have grown richer, and I have learnt:
• to manoeuvre in the midst of the darkness.
• to spot the face of Hope in a crowd of
sadness.
• to think clearly even when I am intoxicated
with perplexity.
• to let go sometimes; to accept the failures,
mistakes, broken relationships, poverty,
depression and any other harsh realities
one can think of.
Looking back, I have learnt so much!
Think about the cliché of learning from the past
because only then can we bring forth something new.
And it is only then that we can reduce, but not avoid,
the possibility of regressing. It is only then, that we can
move forward.
When the going gets tough, the ‘toughness’ gets us going.
The choice is not ours to make when something
untoward happens to us. When we were young and less
experienced, we were hapless victims. We may not have
known about the other options then. Even though we
know the other options now that we are older (and are
expected to be wiser), we sometimes are afraid to step
into unfamiliar territories. The ‘tough’ heads of ours
that resist boldness and change may have kept us living
xviii WHERE DO I BEGIN?
in a vicious cycle. Despite knowing that the road ahead
will continue to be rocky, we still desire to be behind
the comfort and safety of our seat belts. Think about
another cliché, “better be with the devil you know than
the devil you don’t”, and that holds true to what we do
when we make naïve decisions, resisting change.
Since my childhood years until now, I have been
wrestling with the beliefs, values and ways of life
that I was raised with. My decisions may meet with
disapproval each time I go against the norm. However,
that shall not deter me from doing what I know is right,
as the writing and publishing of this book shall be a
precursor of better things to come.
To the readers of this book, let us relive those
moments—happy or sad. It is through these experiences
that we learn to pick up the pieces after each and every
bad ending. It is also because of them that we appreciate
life even more and look forward to every waking day.
The mornings after darkness have become our
brand new beginnings.
I dedicate my story to all women, and to the men
who love the women in their lives. To all the children
who remember that filial piety is a virtue not to be
taken lightly.
Let us begin.
MY ROOTS AND DNA
I grew up in a humble environment with my fascinating
family.
My mother was born in 1943 during World War II to
a very poor family. She lived in a spartan room where
there was no bed in the house. There were only one table
and two carton boxes where my maternal grandmother,
(whom I dearly addressed as Mama), would neatly store
all the clothes and ‘other treasures’. All of my mother’s
siblings and my maternal grandparents slept on the
hard wooden plank floor then. A total of five children.
My maternal grandfather, Kong Kong, was an
immigrant from Hainan, China. He was 17 years older
1
THE PRE-BEGINNING
“ Knowing how my forefathers lived
their lives has made me realise how lucky
I am to have lived mine. I strive to
make it better for future generations. ”
2 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
than my Mama. Yes, 17 years older! One might even
think of him as a cradle snatcher then…
Even though Kong Kong was from China and had
very little education, he worked very hard and managed
to secure a job as a foreman at the City Council to
support five young children, an aged mother-in-law, his
wife and himself. It was certainly not a small feat for
him to be the sole breadwinner for the entire family.
Nevertheless, he was responsible and took care of the
family.
Mama was an abandoned baby raised by a ‘rich’
nonya (Peranakan) family. I grew up learning that she
was adopted during World War I, and of European and
possibly, German descent. That explained why she had
deep-set eyes, while I had freckles when I was younger.
One day during World War II, when Kong Kong
was on his way home after his work, he saw a plastic
bag and quickly retrieved it, thinking that it could be
containing some valuables. Indeed, it did. It was a bag of
banana currency. Back then, ‘banana currency’ was the
Japanese currency that the people used to exchange for
food and products. I can only imagine how excited and
happy Kong Kong must have been when he found that
bag. Mum told me that Kong Kong, together with my
grand Jor Ma (grandmother’s mother), cleverly thought
of a plan to lease a shophouse in Owen Street and sublet
rooms out to make some money.
3THE PRE-BEGINNING
A shophouse was a residential abode where the
residents lived on the upper levels, and the lower level
was used for business operations. Kong Kong was very
smart. I guess that was the start of all his offspring’s
entrepreneurial DNA.
Kong Kong started to partition the shophouse into
smaller bedrooms. He kept some of the bedrooms for
the family, and rented two bedrooms at $5 and $10
per month respectively to help support the household
expenses and feed seven family members. This went on
for decades. Amazing, isn’t it?
Mum often told me stories of how her siblings and
her would constantly worry about their next meal.
When Kong Kong and Mama ran out of money in the
kitty, their children would survive simply on plain rice
and a teaspoon of sugar. Even the rice and sugar had
to be borrowed, very often from the neighbourhood
Chinese provision shop, or the tenant next door. Our
children are so lucky these days. I bet none of them
have ever had to eat plain rice topped with sugar!
Mum has three other siblings still living now. Mama
had multiple miscarriages and one daughter that died
at the young age of four from polio. Uncle Meng, Mum’s
younger brother sadly passed on in a sudden bus
accident a few years ago.
Back in the 1960s to 1970s, Mum’s siblings were not
spared from experiencing poverty at a tender young age.
4 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
Occasionally, they even had to queue for free groceries
from the nearby convents and at Church of St Vincent
de Paul.
Whenever Kong Kong felt ‘rich’ on his payday, he
would buy some small packages of leftover fish from
the fishmonger. Those were the days everyone looked
forward to. For a couple of days at least, the family
members would get to ‘eat well’. Although they were
poor, they were quite happy and were a very close-
knit family. The siblings supported one another and
never fought over who had more. No one felt deprived
of any luxuries or desired anything more. They were
comfortable with living simply and treasured the close
bonds within the family.
God is good.
The most painful times in their lives were when
any one of the family members fell ill. Kong Kong and
From left: Mum’s aunt, Mum’s uncle, Mum, Uncle Meng, Uncle Richard, Granddad, Grandma and Auntie Buay Chin
5THE PRE-BEGINNING
Mama could not afford to send any of their children to
the doctor. They could only rely on ‘old formulas’ and
beliefs of natural healing. Yes, there was no medicine.
Mama would just cover anyone who was sick with
a homemade blanket. She trusted that after some
perspiration was forced out of the system, plain biscuits
or a warm bowl of plain porridge (congee) would warm
the body and do the magic. I guess her way of doing
things did work most times. Mama was uneducated and
had never been to school. She was a housewife, and her
entire life was dedicated to caring for her children and
her husband.
Mum was very fortunate that she was accepted by
the welfare kindergarten as an unregistered student
when she was barely five years old. That was a turning
point for her as it meant that she would never have to
starve. She was provided with at least half a cup of milk
and either bread or biscuits each day.
Mum was blessed many times. She encountered
several incidences where good Samaritans approached
her and extended help to the family.
At the age of six, she was registered in a missionary
school Church of England Zenana Missionary Society
(CEZMS) at Sophia Road. Later this school was
renamed St Margaret’s Girls School where my mother
was educated for 12 years, till she completed her Senior
Cambridge Examinations. During Chinese New Year,
she would always receive gifts such as new clothes, a
6 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
few bottles of aerated orange soft drinks, melon seeds
and Chinese horseshoe biscuits from other parents.
Periodically, Mum’s uncle and auntie would sponsor her
education expenses and buy her new socks and sneakers
for school.
Being the eldest daughter, Mum also helped with
ironing. Although life was tough, they were happy
because they did not need to borrow money from
anyone. The situation further improved when Mum
started providing tuition services to neighbourhood
kids. Come to think of it, I too followed in my mother’s
footsteps. I was barely 14 when I started giving tuition to
two Primary 2 boys. Of course, I had a better life back
then, as I could keep my earnings as pocket money.
Mum had a life scare when she was 16. She was
diagnosed with early-stage tuberculosis and was
suspended from school for four months. At this time,
she was not able to provide tuition and Kong Kong could
not raise the funds to pay for her Senior Cambridge
examination fee, which was about $70 then. Mum
thought that that would be the end of her education.
She was devastated.
Once again, she was saved! Her uncle, Kong Kong’s
brother, technically my granduncle, struck lottery and
won $75. He paid for her to sit for the examinations.
Mum often told us how grateful she was towards her
uncle. Unfortunately, he passed away shortly after her
7THE PRE-BEGINNING
graduation and Mum did not have the chance to repay
and show him her gratitude.
During the time Mum was in the hospital, her
schoolmates visited her and helped her catch up with
her school work, providing her with notes and updates.
One of her schoolmates, Richard, was especially helpful
and kind. He was very attentive to her plight, and stood
by her; taking her out to various school activities such
as campfires, tea parties and concerts after she was
discharged from hospital. Each time Richard took
her out, Mum would worry about not having any nice
clothes or shoes to wear. Once, he even offered Mum $5
to sew a new dress for herself because he was taking
her to attend his cousin’s wedding. Richard eventually
became her ‘special’ boyfriend, or what we would call a
steady boyfriend.
When they went out on dates, he would often delight
my grandparents with a few packets of fried noodles
and satay whenever he visited their home. Richard was
very generous to her family and, frankly, it was a smooth
move to prevent her parents from reprimanding him
for taking her out till late. They spent time studying
together, sat for the Senior Cambridge Examinations
together and graduated together. Isn’t that so sweet?
Now who is Richard?
Yes, you made a right guess. That special boyfriend
is none other than my father, whom I dearly address as
Daddy or sometimes, Dad.
My parents during their courtship days.
8 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
Mum got married at a very young age of 19, after she
graduated from school. I was born a year thereafter.
My Mama helped with taking care of me when I was
born, as my Mum was too young and not yet prepared
to be a mother. Though getting married young was
not such a big deal in the past, I guessed my mother
was not emotionally prepared for motherhood at such
a young age. After almost six months of me being taken
cared by Mama, Mum found me a nanny, Nai Ma, who
lived in the neighbourhood, to take care of me full-time
while she went out to work. I was living with Nai Ma for
a couple of years until my little sister Lena was born.
I was then brought back home to live with my paternal
family, and Lena was left with Nai Ma.
I never got to meet my paternal grandfather, or
Ah Kong as I would have addressed him. He was a
Communist party leader back in the 1940s. Ah
Kong, together with my great grandfather,
operated a decent Hainanese coffee shop
along Perak Street, serving freshly
brewed Hainanese coffee in a ‘sock’.
9THE PRE-BEGINNING
There we go.
Even my paternal great grandfather was an
entrepreneur, operating a coffee shop business. My
entrepreneurial DNA is starting to unfold even more
as I unveil my story.
Dad helped roast the coffee beans before grinding
them to coffee powder. The coffee powder would then be
run through a sock-shaped filter to brew over boiling
water. “The coffee will have a better aroma and flavour
whenever it is brewed this way,” Dad often shared with
me as he recalled how he had to help Ah Kong after
school hours.
I was always curious where Ah Kong was, as I heard
stories from Dad that he was still alive and remarried
upon returning to China. Dad used to share stories about
what a brave and noble man Ah Kong was. Ah Kong, born
Teo Ti Tin, changed his name to Zhang Ai Meng, which
translates to “love the people” in Mandarin, when he
was fighting against the Japanese during World War II.
He was leading a ‘Love People’ movement during the
war. When Dad was born, Ah Kong was captured by the
Japanese and sent to the Thai borders for five years to
help build bridges for the soldiers.
Ah Kong returned to Singapore when the Japanese
surrendered in 1945. When Dad was only seven years
old, Ah Kong was repatriated by the British when the
war was over, to Haikou, the capital of Hainan Island in
China. (That was where he came from before sailing to
10 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
Singapore and meeting his bride in the late 1920s.) The
reason for his repatriation was because he was against
the British rule after the Japanese surrendered. I have
great admiration for my Dad for living through all those
years without a father figure by his side during his
growing up years. At seven, Dad had to step up to be the
man of the house, when his mother, my grandmother,
had to bring the bacon back to feed the entire family
of four children and an aged mother.
My paternal grandma, Annie, or Ji Ma, which means
young grandma in Hokkien, lived with us. She was
referred to as the young grandma because my great
grandma was still alive and living with us then. Ji
Ma was sadly left a ‘widow’ when she was only in her
mid-twenties, pregnant with her third child when her
husband was arrested by the British officials, and then
sent back to Hainan. At the time of Ah Kong’s arrest,
Dad was seven years old, his younger brother Alan was
two, and their mother was heavily pregnant with a
third brother, James.
Ji Ma was a strong-willed woman. Her resilience
during the World War II era, along with the help
from my paternal great grandpa (Jor Kong) and great
grandma (Jor Ma) kept her going. At that time, the
political and social environment was very insecure. To
ensure the safety of the family, Ji Ma joined a women’s
support group where the members referred to each
other as sworn butterfly sisters. From there on, her name
11THE PRE-BEGINNING
became Annie. I must have been seven or eight years old
then and I remembered the many bizarre stories that
my Ji Ma would tell me. She would repeat the stories
many times over but I was always left in awe each time
I heard them.
Top: Ji Ma with her three sons Richard, Alan and James (1952).Bottom: My parents’ engagement photo with the Teo family (1961).
12 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
Ji Ma was considered big for an Asian woman. She
was tall at 5 feet 8 inches, and she probably weighed over
130 pounds. She had a small butterfly tattoo on her left
thigh, which nobody knew about as she was always in
long pants. As an impressionable young child, I listened
to each and every story of Ji Ma’s adventures. She was an
excellent communicator as well. She could sell medicine
back to the pharmacist, after repackaging the same
medicine she had purchased from him, and for a good
profit too!
With every story of her conquests and how her
sworn sisters and her stood bravely and firmly on their
principles to fight for justice, she described how these
fearless ladies prepared for the ‘event’, and how they
successfully achieved each ‘planned outcome’. I always
listened so attentively and ended up asking for more
stories each time. Here is how a conversation between
us would take place.
Ji Ma: All the sisters will gather outside the courtroom.
About 10 or 11 of us. The moment we received
the signals from the one who is always stationed
by the door of the courtroom, we will all charge
inside. All of us will have our clogs and poles
ready to fight for justice. For justice we stand.
Me: Wa! Then what happened? Ji Ma, quick, tell me.
She would share with me what her sisters and her
were fighting about, or who they were fighting for. I could
13THE PRE-BEGINNING
never understand. I was just simply stunned at how my
Ji Ma could even be a ‘fighter’!
Today, when I recall her stories in my mind, I am
still amazed and left wondering if those stories were
real! She was such a good storyteller. Let me share some
stories here with you and you can decide if the following
stories were real or made up.
Ji Ma said, “In order for each of these women to be
accepted into the group as my kit pai sisters (sworn sisters
in Hokkien), they must first agree to the ritual we had.
They had to prick their index finger, drip a drop of their
blood into a bowl that contained the blood of the other
members, go through a prayer ceremony and drink the
blood.” As I listened, my jaws dropped and my eyes were
wide with shock. It sounded almost cult-like, but I was
told it was not. This act of mixing everyone’s blood in a
bowl and sipping it symbolised ‘unity and strength’ for
the group, as they vowed to stay together through ‘thick
and thin’, to help their sisters when they were in need,
be courageous, and to fight for ‘freedom’. Most of these
women in the group were widows as their husbands
died in the war; they could also be victims of rape or
orphans after their families were killed. Each member
of the group needed to lean onto someone who was able
to give them the emotional, mental and psychological
support to carry on with their lives.
Ji Ma used to share with me more exciting stories
about how the members would join forces to fight the
14 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
authorities; the women would plan out how they could
unanimously “qiong” (charge) into the courtroom when
any one of them got into trouble with the law, mostly
by getting involved in fights or illegal gambling. Ji Ma
seemed to be the ‘leader’ as everyone addressed her as
dua jie, which means eldest sister in Hokkien.
One of the many horror stories she often reminded
me of was that “wicked people would kidnap young
children”. I was sure she used this story as a scare tactic
to prevent me from roaming around by myself. She
would say, “Ah Eng ah, don’t run around by yourself.
Remember, there’s a group of syndicates travelling by
train and constantly abducting young children.” She
went on, “One day, a passenger on the train noticed a
young child being carried on the back of a man, and the
child was asleep with his head resting on the shoulder
of the man.” She continued, “The young toddler was a
two-year-old boy.” I never questioned how she knew the
age of the toddler.
Ji Ma then added, “He was sleeping throughout
the entire train journey of about eight hours between
Malaysia and Singapore. One of the passengers, who
was seated next to the man with the toddler, felt a little
uncomfortable and found it very strange, as there were
no movements from this little child throughout the
train journey, and the toddler’s face looked dead pale.”
Ji Ma’s eyes started to get bigger and her tone got softer,
as if to make her story more dramatic. “Feeling curious,
15THE PRE-BEGINNING
the passenger removed a safety pin from his trouser
and pierced the little child’s foot.”
“So what happened, Ji Ma? What happened? Did the
toddler cry?” I asked.
I could see that Ji Ma enjoyed watching my
reactions. She raised her voice and gestured with her
hands as she continued her story. “There were no cries,
no commotion! Oh dear, the passenger started getting
really suspicious and his heart was racing faster and
faster.” My heart was racing faster and faster as well.
Even though I had heard this story like a hundred
times over, and I knew the ending to the story, I still
sat there obediently waiting for Ji Ma to complete her
storytelling. “He stood up, walked towards the train
inspector and alerted him,” Ji Ma added.
“Then what happened? Quick Ji Ma, tell me what
happened next?”
“When the train stopped, the man with the toddler
on his back was stopped by a couple of uniformed police
in shorts.” I listened on.
“The newspapers reported on the following day that
the little toddler was already dead for over a week!”
Now, are you ready for this? “The parts of the little
toddler were removed and replaced with drugs. The
wicked man sewed drugs into the body of the toddler
and attempted to smuggle them across the border.”
Each time I got to this part of the story, I would cover
my ears and chills came over me. If Ji Ma intended to
16 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
use the story to ‘scare’ me into obedience, she certainly
succeeded. Whenever I saw a man with a little sleeping
toddler on his back, I would walk really fast and stay
far away.
Other stories that Ji Ma shared were about babies
being abandoned outside the convent doors. Parents
who could not afford to raise their children would
wrap their babies in a piece of white cloth and leave
them at the door with a handwritten note, indicating
the babies’ names and asking for the convent to adopt
them. Ji Ma sometimes made the story more dramatic
by adding that the white piece of cloth which was
wrapped around the babies, would be written in the
parents’ blood to symbolise the pain the parents had
to go through when they abandoned their babies due
to unfortunate circumstances. She always ended this
story by saying, “You are so lucky that your parents did
not give you away for adoption.” I felt so blessed indeed.
Ji Ma maintained consistencies in her stories and
that was why I believed they were true. “Some babies
were not so lucky. They were left at the steps of the
Rochor canal during low tide, and when the tide got
higher, those innocent babies would get swept away”.
I think she always had a key learning point for me, and
I had to understand what was the moral to each of her
stories. With this story, she would end with, “Don’t play
along or near the canals as they are all haunted with all
these innocent lives lost.”
17THE PRE-BEGINNING
Each time someone drowned in the canal, Ji Ma
would not fail to remind me that the ‘water ghost’ had
come to claim lives.
Now, I wonder if all these stories will still work
on our children. I doubt they will scare them since
children these days have no chance to play along the
canals, and we are more afraid of cyber attacks as
compared to physical kidnaps. However, it is still
an important lesson to remind us of all those difficult
times after World War II, when families were poor and
babies were indeed abandoned.
Ji Ma was a very generous woman. Extremely
generous! She was always giving to the less fortunate
and would share the food she prepared with the
neighbours. The doors to our house were always left
open to welcome all who wished to join us during meals.
Ji Ma was a very good cook and her curry chicken,
laksa with quail eggs, mixed vegetables with tang hoon
(vermicelli) and balut (unborn chicks cooked in a pot of
ginger sauce) were her signature dishes. I really miss
her cooking.
Though she may sometimes come across as an ‘iron
lady’, Ji Ma had a heart of gold. She adopted a baby girl
who was only a few months old, to fulfil her desire
to have a daughter. Ji Ma named her Pek Lian. Pek
Lian had been abandoned by her biological parents
who could not afford to raise her. Pek Lian, whom
I addressed as Ah Kou (younger sister to my father),
18 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
was born with some physical disability. At six, she was
still unable to speak and could not stand up straight.
Despite her condition, Ji Ma hoped that Pek Lian would
still grow up like a normal child and be relied on to
help with the household chores, look after her siblings
or to take care of her aged mother who was my beloved
Jor Ma. Ah Kou, who is now in her seventies, still lives
today without knowing who her biological parents are.
She has been through many ordeals in her life too. She
continues her misery in silence and is fully resigned
to her fate. She now has two grown-up children, a boy
and a girl. She suffered a stroke a few years ago. I will
probably need a separate chapter or book if I were to
share her story.
My parents’ wedding photo (1962).
19THE PRE-BEGINNING
After the death of my great grandpa, Dad sold the
house and the coffeeshop at Perak Road. He then moved
to Lorong Sang Kenchil, a little kampong filled with
rows of single stories zinc-roofed terrace houses and
got married there. I was born there too. Even though
the kampong is no longer on the map of Singapore,
my childhood days and the memories are still forever
etched in my heart.
Let’s talk about my parents.
My mother was a secondary school teacher, well-
respected by everyone in the kampong. She taught
English, Mathematics, Arts and Volleyball at a private
institution, St Francis Xavier Girls’ Secondary School.
She would take me to the school with her sometimes,
mostly on Saturdays when she had to teach volleyball.
That reminds me, I was hit very hard by a volleyball
while playing near the volleyball poles. The school girls
were in the zone volleying the ball while my mother
was engrossed with coaching the girls how to play
the game. Out of nowhere, the ball smacked my face
right between my eyes. I was five and was not stealthy
enough to evade that brutal ‘attack’ from the ball. I fell
to the ground with blood flowing from my nose and
tears welling up in my eyes. I cried, wailed and made
myself even more audible when I heard the girls and
other observers frantically asking, “Oh dear, are you
okay? Are you okay? How are you feeling? That’s a lot of
blood, my goodness!”
20 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
I suffered from ‘post-shock syndrome’ and all the
commotion from the girls around me that afternoon
made the pain I was feeling even worse. With a numbed
face, I still managed to smile, but only when one of the
perpetrators handed me a multi-coloured lollipop. A
tough cookie at the age of five, indeed!
In the 1960s, Dad worked as an audit officer in
the Auditor-General’s Office (AGO). At that time,
it was a big deal to be educated, let alone a family
with a secondary school teacher and an audit officer
who worked for the government back in the 1960s.
Both my parents were recipients of the prestigious
Highest School Leaving Certificates (HSLC). Dad
graduated from Victoria School while Mum hailed
from St Margaret’s School. I guessed that was why she
picked Margaret as her first name. Dad and Mum were
sweethearts since teenage years and they got married
in 1962. In the kampong, everyone greeted my mother
as “qi cher”, which was supposed to sound like “teacher”.
However, it sounded more like “vehicle” in Mandarin
as the elderly neighbours were mostly uneducated and
found it very difficult to pronouce the word “teacher”.
Whenever the neighbours needed a letter to be read
or an official government document to be explained,
they would always approach my parents for help.
Neighbourliness was definitely a trait found in the
kampong. Sometimes, the neighbours even asked my
parents to draft letters and fill out official forms. My
21THE PRE-BEGINNING
parents provided free services for the kampong folks,
as they would have to pay a few cents if they were
to have the letters and forms read by others at the
government bureaus. That must be another reason
why the households at the kampong always treated
us so warmly. Even the small provision stores, where
toiletries and groceries were purchased, offered us
credit facilities! Our family needed only to write down
the items we needed each time on a small blue ‘555’
notebook, and the payments to the provision store
would be made only at the end of every month. There
was no need for any forms, bank collaterals or salary
slips to be filled! The transactions were purely based
on trust.
MY CHILDHOOD YEARS
As a toddler, I lived without worries, or perhaps I did
not know what worries were then. I had a carefree
childhood where running around the kampong was a
daily routine. Sometimes, barefoot too. Our kampong
used to be located in Lorong Sang Kenchil, which was
a small community of different ethnic groups living
together. Not too far from our kampong was the Malay
kampong. Living in such a small yet diverse community
gave me many invaluable benefits. Just as a child’s mind
is likened to a sponge, I picked up other local Chinese
dialects from the neighbours easily. Aside from English
22 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
Clockwise from top: Carefree days when I was three (1966). Neighbours baking love letters (1967). Sitting on my favourite swing when I was one year old (1964). Picking flowers in the kampong with my childhood friend Muemue.
23THE PRE-BEGINNING
and Mandarin, I am also fluent in Hokkien, Teochew,
Cantonese and Hainanese, my mother tongue. I can
dabble in a little Hakka (from my nanny), Malay (from
my neighbours’ children) and Japanese (from my Ji
Ma). I was comfortably switching from one dialect to
another when I was conversing with different people in
the kampong.
At home, my parents conversed with me in English,
and when I was speaking to my Jor Jor and Ji Ma, we
used Hokkien most of the time. Our home at the
kampong had only one big 15 x 15 feet square hall and
two small rectangular 15 x 10 feet bedrooms, with a
small ‘false’ wooden platformed attic between the hall
and the bedrooms. The kids in the neighbourhood and
I loved to climb up the wooden side ladder to hide and
play in the attic. The attic’s room was probably only
8 x 8 feet wide with a height of only 4 feet. So we could
only crawl in to sit or to sleep. There was simply no
space for us to stand.
Mum told me that I gave everyone the scare of their
lives when I went missing one day. They searched the
entire house and around the kampong for me for about
an hour. No one saw me until they climbed up to the
attic and found me fast asleep. No one knew how I got
up there!
Our bedroom was separated by a huge curtain that
divided my parents’ bed and a metal structured bunk
bed. I slept on the upper bunk bed while my younger
24 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
sister slept on the lower bunk. Jor Jor and Ji Ma slept
in the other room. They had foldable canvas beds which
they pulled out from behind the cabinet every night.
These beds were shaped like a big ‘X’ when they were
opened up and a huge ‘I’ when folded. The invention was
genius. Sometimes, I begged to sleep on those canvas
beds, especially on a hot day. You would feel like you
were being cuddled and snuggled in a sarong, and it
was a very comfortable and cool way to sleep.
The rooftop of our single-storey terrace house was
lined with large zinc slabs. The lower half of the roof
was streaked with cement and bricks while the upper
walls were made of wood. When it rained heavily, we
had to bear with knee-high floods. I recalled that we
had to use small pails to empty the water that entered
our front hall through the main door entrance.
Fortunately, we did not have sofas back then. We had
a rectangular dining table, which I loved to sit on each
time to watch what was happening outside. It was a
good location as the table was pushed just next to the
windowpane, along with the four-legged metal dining
chairs. Soon later, my Dad decided to build a little dam-
like wall about 1 foot high from the ground at our front
door to prevent water from flowing into our hall during
a flood. To protect the house from evil spirits entering,
Jor Jor ensured that we had a family altar in the hall. Jor
Jor and Ji Ma were Taoists. They believed in deities and
spirits from the ‘other world’. We had the Tu Di Gong,
25THE PRE-BEGINNING
the God of the Earth to protect the ground that we lived
on. We also worshipped the Goddess of Mercy, often
known as the Guan Yin Pu Sa.
I used to be quite weak as a child. I fell ill easily and
my parents would rush me to the hospital whenever
I had a fever or stomachache. One day, Ji Ma took me to
a famous Taoist temple, Giok Hong Tian Temple, along
Havelock Road. It was regarded as one of the most popular
temples in Singapore where devotees congregated to
pray for blessings. Ji Ma and people around me called me
by my Chinese pet name Ah Eng. My Chinese name was
supposed to signify beauty and bravery. I wonder where
the brains had gone to!
On my sixth birthday, Ji Ma told me that I was
offered to the Guan Yin Pu Sa to be her goddaughter
and that the Goddess of Mercy would, from that day
onwards, protect me, guide me in school, help me get
good grades and so on.
Ji Ma never failed to say “Ah Eng, lai bai bai,” which
means “Ah Eng, come and pray,” whenever we walked
into any temple.
I burnt joss sticks and did as I was told to do—
kneeling, bowing, standing, repeating the same actions
about three times. Finally, I had to plant three long lit
joss sticks into a huge golden metal urn at the temple.
There were thousands of joss sticks planted in there.
I never questioned what I was told to do. Just do it!
26 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
I felt like an adult doing things that adults were
doing. It seemed interesting then.
INTERESTING PERSONALITIES
My kampong days would have been forgettable if not
for my neighbours who had interesting personalities.
On the right of our house lived a family who came
from Malaysia. They were Cantonese Chinese and they
were a family of shoemakers (cobblers). Every day they
had a routine of cutting, sewing, and hammering away
as they made wonderful shoes. They were very friendly
people. I got along very well with each family member.
When I was a child, I usually climbed a seat off a ledge
which separated our houses to witness them as they
practised the art of shoemaking. The ledge, which
was about 4.5 feet high from the ground and slightly
less than 1 foot wide, was mounted along the balcony
separating our houses.
As a child, I witnessed how some Malay children
would sneak over to our cobbler neighbour’s home
to steal empty glue cans that had been disposed of.
I wasn’t aware that they were glue sniffing until I was
much older. Back then, I wondered why these kids
were interested in empty glue cans and smelling them.
Fortunately, I did not follow in their footsteps.
The house to our left belonged to a lorry driver. He
was a Teochew man in his sixties. I remembered him
27THE PRE-BEGINNING
being a very grouchy, nasty, spiteful old man who took
pleasure in killing cats that strayed into his home. It
was frightening to hear the cats shrieking away in
pain. He abhorred the cats for stealing fishes from
the kitchen. I hardly saw him as he raised a high wall
between his backyard garden and ours. Well, that
worked for me. It was a relief to be spared from the
possible opportunity of seeing the man’s vicious acts
on the cats. As told by the kids, he tied a rope around
the cats’ necks and swung them to death, or poured hot
water on them.
Lorong Sang Kenchil (Credit to Dr Darren Fung, veterinarian and artist).
28 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
One day, I heard some mewing at my backyard.
To my surprise, I found eight newborn kittens curled
together near an empty pail with the mother cat
nowhere in sight. I feared that the mother cat may
have been murdered by the cruel neighbour. My Ji Ma,
who loved animals, decided to adopt these little kittens.
Together with my younger sister, Lena, we named them
after one of our favourite songs, “Itsy, Bitsy, Teenie,
Weenie, Yellow, Polka, Dot, Bikini.” No kidding!
Down the road, a few more houses away, we had
a family who kept pigs, perhaps eight to ten of them,
including piglets. Every morning, the pig farmer’s wife
and children walked around the kampong with a six-
foot-long pole balanced on their shoulders and with two
huge pails swinging at the end of the poles. They went
around the kampong, door to door, to every household
to collect leftover food—we called them poon in the
Teochew dialect. We kept a big red pail in the kitchen,
beneath the sink, to collect all the poon which were
not consumed from our dinner the night before. The
farmers would cook the leftovers as food for the pigs.
Imagine the stench—not aroma—from cooking this
heap of leftovers! At the beginning of every Lunar New
Year, they gave us ‘presents’ that would come in the
form of a huge sack of rice grains or fruits—an act of
thanksgiving for our contribution to their livelihood.
Living next to the farmers was a family who had
a small Taoist temple built inside their house. They
29THE PRE-BEGINNING
had many figurines of deities on the altar facing the
entrance of their home—from Kwan Kong and the
Goddess of Mercy to the Monkey God. Around the
vicinity, they constructed two big cages where they kept
an 8-foot long python and a king cobra in the other.
Yes, they were real snakes. In the 1960s, I would assume
that it was still legal in Singapore to keep such exotic
pets; otherwise, they could have kept them illegally.
The family followed the deities’ instructions and they
thought there was sufficient reason to keep those fatal
snakes, which were believed to be the protectors of the
kampong. Every morning, without fail, live chickens
were sacrificed and thrown into the cages where they
kept these snakes. I was told that those were sick
chickens anyhow, and that they were not fit for human
consumption. Sometimes, as I walked past the house,
I would stop to witness how the snakes attacked their
prey, curling their long bodies around the chickens,
suffocating and then swallowing the chickens alive
one-by-one; head in first and slowly gliding the rest of
the chicken’s body down the snakes’ body. I was always
intrigued by how snakes are able to open their mouths
so wide and swallow their prey, which can be much
bigger than them.
At one point, I heard that the family who kept
those snakes were very fierce gangsters and were
very influential in the kampong. I was told that they
were often involved in fights within and outside the
30 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
kampong, and they were always prepared to protect the
village against any intruders.
One afternoon, I was shocked to return to a
clamour in the neighbourhood. Everyone was yelling
their lungs out: “Shut the door, get inside! Shut the door
tight, don’t come out and close the windows!” Before
I knew what was going on, Ah Kou, my father’s adopted
sister, pushed me inside the house and hastily locked
the door and windows. My curiosity grew as I heard
dogs howling outside our house. I quickly climbed onto
the dining table, peeped through the small gaps on the
wooden window panes and to my utter disbelief, I saw
fights happening right at my doorstep. My Ah Kou was
yelling away in Hokkien, “Ah Eng, come down, come
down, come down! You are going to fall to your death!”
And it just fell on deaf ears.
The gangsters were fighting with parangs and
throwing glass bottles at one another. I later found out
that the bottles they were throwing during the fights
contained acid which burnt the skin of a stray dog and
could cause skins to melt!
A stone’s throw away from my house lived a family
of many sisters. The youngest of them was named Tai
Choo, and she was believed to be a Taoist medium. She
had the gift of speaking to spirits and the dead. During
each prayer session, she entered into a trance-like
state where she would bang the table really hard with
her palms, jump onto chairs and speak gibberish. I bet
31THE PRE-BEGINNING
most of them present did not understand what she was
mumbling then too. When Tai Choo was conferred the
title of Taoist medium, she was only in her late twenties.
Her mother was slightly plump while her father had a
small build. (He died the morning after he attended a
wedding dinner where he had too much alcohol and
durian. Ji Ma reminded us never to drink any alcohol,
especially brandy with durian. According to her, that
was the most potent combination and the body would
not be able to take it.)
Another Cantonese family lived next to Tai Choo’s
family. The husband was a sailor, and the wife was a
homemaker who looked after her two children—a
cute chubby boy about two years older than I was, and
an older sister who was 18 years old that time. Their
children were highly educated, and very polite. As they
tended to keep a lot to themselves, most of the other
families thought they were somewhat snobbish.
Then I had my nanny who lived four houses away
from us, diagonally. She was hired to look after us in the
day, cook and bathe us, then return us to our parents
in the evening. She was Hakka and I called her Nai Ma
(which is the Cantonese term for nanny) all the time.
Nai Ma had one son and three daughters of her own
then, and being a nanny was her full-time job in the
kampong. My mother shared that I was very pampered
in the kampong as I was a very cute and chatty
little girl, with mata kuching eyes which were round
32 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
like longans. I enjoyed the attention I had back in those
kampong days. Running around barefoot on pebbled
and sand pavements without a care in the world and
sometimes even climbing up the soursop tree right in
front of our house—these were the best ways to grow
up.
We lived in a truly diverse community back then.
The kampong spirit was so strong that even until
today, my mother is still in touch with some of the
neighbours from yesteryears.
FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH
At six years old, I had no fear of and no clue about
what death was and what it was going to be like. It
was my first encounter with death when my dearest
Jor Jor passed away. My Jor Jor (I never knew what her
real name was when I was a child) was my protector whenever I was up to any mischief. She would always
stand up for me, regardless of whether I was right or
wrong. Jor Jor walked with an antique wooden walking
stick and her hair was always neatly combed in a bun.
I loved her smile. It would sparkle from her revealing a
solid gold incisor tooth. She was probably 82 years old
when she passed on.
“Mommy, why is everyone crying when Jor Jor is
sleeping?” I asked innocently, with a perplexed look on
my face. My mother told me that Jor Jor would not wake
33THE PRE-BEGINNING
up anymore, and though I did not understand what she
meant by that, I walked away with a frown on my face.
Ji Ma made me change into a pair of black shorts and
a white T-shirt with a small piece of blue cloth cut into a
square, and with another smaller piece of red cloth on
top. The two cloths were stitched together and pinned
to the right sleeve of my white T-shirt. This emblem was
given to the great grandchildren of the deceased. Each
of the great grandchildren wore it on the right sleeves
of their white T-shirts.
Everyone else also had to put on different outfits
with different coloured cloths pinned on their right
arm sleeves. We all had to put on white socks instead
of slippers or shoes, except for Dad who donned string
sandals and a headgear.
A huge tent was pitched right in front of our house
from the main entrance to the pebbled walkway. There
was a lot of fuss around. There must have been 20
tables and hundreds of chairs laid under the tentage
with fans and huge bulbs mounted as well, lighting up
the entire place. I saw my uncles and aunties gathered
around to fold red papers filled with one cent coins
which were then placed on every table, together with a
bowl of groundnuts and black melon seeds.
I was pushed away when they laid Jor Jor into the
coffin as it was considered bad luck for relatives to
witness the dead being placed inside the coffin. I was
ordered to face the opposite direction when the coffin
34 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
was carried out and placed on a pair of wooden stands
beneath the tent. A small table filled with food, candles,
joss sticks and fruits was set up at the foot of the coffin.
By the side of the table were two tall poles from which
hung two huge white lanterns with Chinese numerals
written on them. These numerals reflected Jor Jor’s age
upon death. There were also long banners and bunting
tied from pole to pole which were used to support the
tent. With every minute, I saw more and more banners
erected, and huge woollen blankets filled with intricate
designs mounted above the poles too. Wreaths of
flowers quickly lined the borders of the tent and were
arranged on the roadside. It looked like a colourful
flower display. The banners and blankets bore pictures
of dragons, phoenixes, flowers, and huge Chinese
characters from associations and clans.
A couple of days later, someone delivered a large
three-storey bungalow, a life-sized car that came with a
driver inside, treasure boxes with neatly folded ladies’
clothes, as well as stacks of hell notes. There were a few
life-sized paper dolls by the side of the paper house,
which were believed to be the servants for my Jor Jor
when she got to the underworld. The Chinese believe
that if we burnt all these paper luxuries, the dead
would receive them and enjoy a better life when they
reincarnated.
The wake lasted for seven days and nights. The older
the deceased, the longer the duration of the wake. The
35THE PRE-BEGINNING
wake was when visitors would come over to accompany
the family of the deceased, as the family members had
to keep watch day and night, ensuring that the coffin
was protected. We had to keep black cats away from the
coffin as the Chinese believe that it is bad luck if a black
cat were to accidentally jump over the coffin; the dead
person might wake up as a zombie. That’s something
none of us would want to experience for sure!
And since Jor Jor had passed 80 years of age, she
was considered very fortunate because she had three
generations of her children, grandchildren and great
grandchildren ‘sending her off’ to the ‘other world’.
Therefore, she had seven days instead of the usual
three or five days for her wake as compared to those
who passed on younger. On the final day, there was a
huge show of wealth and display of network. We had
three big groups of Chinese funeral orchestras playing
trumpets, drums, flutes and other Chinese musical
instruments, a group of stilt walkers and a group of
female flower bearers. There was also an intricately
decorated lorry to carry the coffin as well as five big
buses, which were used to transport relatives and well-
wishers to the burial ground. It seemed like hundreds
of relatives were present—all the clan and association
members were in full force and almost the entire
kampong showed up to join in the procession of prayers
to bid farewell to Jor Jor in her final journey. As one big
family, we went to the burial grounds at Lim Chu Kang
36 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
Cemetery to send my beloved Jor Jor to her final resting
place. This culture of showing respect to the deceased
by ‘entertaining’ them or celebrating their lives with
flower bearers or bands, will probably be gone in the
next generation, as we are not witnessing many of
these activities these days.
STARTING SCHOOL
When I was almost three, I was enrolled in a government
nursery playschool. Most of my classmates were three to
five years old. My Ah Kou was given the responsibility to
accompany me to the nursery every Monday to Friday.
It was only a 10 to 15-minute walk. We merely had to
cross a main road and head towards a small building
shaped like a hut, where tiny chairs were spread in
clusters around the room.
I was a student at that playschool until I turned
five, when my mother enrolled me at Elim Church
Kindergarten. Elim Church Kindergarten was privately
managed by a Christian community, and it was just
a few blocks away from St Francis Xavier Secondary
school, where my mother was teaching.
In my first year at Elim Church Kindergarten,
I was chosen to be an archangel during a Christmas
performance. Looking back, I must have been so cute
and beautiful, clad in a white gown with tiny feathered
wings sewed on the back of my gown. I had a halo above
37THE PRE-BEGINNING
my head and even had to carry a wand to complete the
look. I recall that I had actually wanted to take on the
role as Mother Mary because I liked the sky blue veil
over Mother Mary’s head—but I was rejected because
I was vertically-challenged for that role. Nevertheless,
I had fun being on stage for the very first time, in front
of the hundreds of parents and teachers as members of
the audience. Elim Church is still sitting at the same
location even until today, I think! Every time I pass by
that compound, I get lost in the sweet memories of my
first stage performance.
When I was seven, I was enrolled into Canossa
Convent Primary School (CCPS), which was a very popular
convent school. I loved every year of my education at the
convent. CCPS on Salim Road was only two miles away
from where I lived back then at Lorong Sang Kenchil.
I enjoyed the daily trishaw ride to and from school,
which took approximately 20 minutes. Each trishaw had
only two seats, and sometimes the driver squeezed three
tiny children into the vehicle. The trishaw had only three
wheels. Basically, it was a bicycle with an extended two-
seater wooden platform supported by another wheel and
the back wheel of the bicycle, to keep it balanced on just
three wheels!
I must say that despite having a strict and conservative
environment, CCPS managed to produce great students.
Most of the students achieved excellent Primary School
Leaving Examination (PSLE) grades by the time they
38 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
completed their six years of education. My Primary 1
teacher was Sister Victorina, a Canossian nun. I used
to call her Sister Vic as Victorina was too long for me.
Fortunately, she never reprimanded me for calling her
by her nickname. While Sister Vic was very friendly, she
was also a strict teacher. Every morning, she greeted
her students with a nice warm hug. It was admirable
as she did that to all her 43 students with utmost
consistency. However, Sister Vic would become fierce
whenever she saw someone misbehaving in class. She
would raise her voice to a few decibels louder than usual,
and frown lines would appear on her high forehead,
as her white nun habit would pull back all her hair,
revealing just her hairline and her face. Most of the
time she had her left arm on her hip and a wooden ruler
in her right hand. The look of a stern teacher! Without
warning, once in a while, we would get startled by a
loud thud whenever that terrifying stick landed on
the desk of girls who were caught not paying attention
in class, or those who ignored disciplinary guidelines
and wore their hair too long, or their skirts too short, or
came to school with untrimmed fingernails. She was as
effective as a customs official, conducting spot checks
as she approached each and every member of the class.
We both loved and feared her. Or should I say, we
respected her.
As a student, I did get restless quite easily in class.
I would ask many questions, distracting my classmates
39THE PRE-BEGINNING
as I pleaded with the teacher to conduct the class at a
faster pace as I seemed to already have all the answers
to the questions. Most of the lessons taught in class
bored me to death somehow, especially when I was in
Primary 1. To ‘get rid’ of me, the Principal, Sister Chua,
decided that I should sit in a Primary 2 examination,
together with nine other students. Just six months
into Primary 1, the assessment that we took was to
test our intelligence and to check our suitability to
be accelerated to Primary 2. Six of us who took the
test passed the exams, and we were promoted to the
Primary 2 level the following month. We were only
seven then! That drove my adrenaline up as I was
in a class of students that were all one year older.
I had to catch up with what they had previously learnt,
and focus on doing well for the final examinations in
a few months’ time, in order to get promoted again
to Primary 3! There was a bit of a social struggle and
adjustments had to be made in the first two months,
as I had to adapt to a new group of more senior
classmates, make new friends and try really hard
to understand the new lessons. To up the challenge,
I was selected to join the school choir to sing at the
National Primary School Choir competitions that ran
throughout the year.
I could feel that the Principal had a special liking
for me. She would sit me on her lap whenever we went
on bus rides for these choir competitions. I felt quite
40 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
uncomfortable at times with the envious looks that the
other students gave me. I just sat quietly and avoided
any eye contact with the other choir mates. I may not
have sung well, but I definitely enjoyed singing soprano
and singing my favourite song, “Finiculi, Finicula”—a
famous Italian song by Rodney Dangerfield.
I found that I was pretty musically inclined from
the moment I started creating music from a simple
harmonica, which was given to me as a birthday present
at 10. I didn’t know how to read musical notes and did
not have the opportunity to have formal music lessons,
aside from the choir classes at school. Upon hearing
the tunes, I would be able to play it on my harmonica. It
was amazing! Sometimes, I would sneak into the music
room and, without anyone watching, tried playing
the piano with just my right hand. With both eyes
constantly keeping a look out to ensure that no one
found out, my left hand was strategically placed on the
piano lid so that I could quickly close it the moment
I noticed anyone passing by.
Thinking back, that was quite a hilarious episode!
I was mischievous.
The opportunity to learn the violin came when
I was in Primary 6 at 11. Despite my late start at the
Primary 2 level (I was half a year behind the rest of my
classmates), I managed to pass my final examinations
and was promoted to Primary 3.
41THE PRE-BEGINNING
The school invited interested students from our
class to register for violin lessons. I jumped at the
opportunity and begged my Dad to allow me to take up
violin lessons. Like a dream come true, I was presented
with my personal violin on my first violin lesson. I was
on top of the world!
There were just three students. I was so enthusiastic
and paid close attention to the instructor. At home,
I practised diligently every day for over an hour. My
kittens would hide under the chairs whenever I started
to practise on my violin. It was so funny to see the kittens
running away when my bow was taken out from my
violin case each time. I really enjoyed playing the violin.
Sadly, my happiness was short-lived.
Almost one year into my violin lessons, my instructor
decided to stop teaching us as he was offered a better
opportunity to go to Japan.
We were abandoned.
Thinking back, perhaps the reason why the teacher
decided to leave was also because it was not financially
viable for him to be tutoring only three students.
I was left in a lurch as my parents refused to let me
continue the violin lessons outside the school. It would
have been far more expensive. My violin was sadly left
aside and I had to focus on preparing for my PSLE. It
was important that I do well in my PSLE in order to
be promoted to secondary school. Most importantly, I
42 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
had to score well to secure a position at a sister school,
St Anthony’s Convent Secondary School (SACSS).
And I did.
Where do I begin?
I was looking forward to the new environment at
SACSS at Middle Road.
I felt like a grown-up when I wore my new secondary
school uniform. I had to give up the 2-mile trishaw ride
for a 40-minute bus ride to school.
The number of subjects I had to take increased from
four to nine.
For the first time, I had to learn new subjects such
as Geography, Biology, Home Economics, Technical
Education and Literature, on top of the regular English,
Chinese, Maths and Art classes. I was one year younger
than all my classmates and as a result of that, I was
still short compared to a lot of my classmates. Each
student would have to join an Extra Curricular Activity
(ECA) aside from their regular
academic curriculum. I chose to
join the Girl Guides. I had been
waiting for this moment.
Why?
I was very much influenced
and inspired by my Dad, who was
a Boy Scout during his school
days. I recall him sharing with
me some of his Scouting days
When I was 12 years old in my Secondary 1
uniform (1974).
Dad’s Scouting days (1958).
43THE PRE-BEGINNING
stories and proudly showing me photos of himself all
dressed up in his smart Boy Scouts’ uniform, which
had many badges sewn on the sleeves. He went for
horseback riding and campfires, and even learnt how
to start a fire with just stones. Those were just some of
the many adventurous activities he did.
I was jumping for joy when I heard that I was
accepted to be a Girl Guide. Those were some of the most
memorable and best moments of my secondary school
life! I made great friends and learnt many life skills
during my Guiding days. We were constantly exposed to
opportunities to work with teams from other schools for
fundraising events, campfire nights and performances.
I also learnt how to be more resilient through those
challenging moments of canoeing, camping and
staying on treetop houses, doing community work every
year and helping the less privileged. I even performed
at the then Cultural Centre to help with a fundraising
event. I participated in a Chinese folk dance, did a
Filipino bamboo dance to the tune of tinikling, and
with three other dancers, performed a modern dance
to the tune of “Love is Blue”. The latter performance
even won us an interview and
a performance on Radio
44 WHERE DO I BEGIN?
Television Singapore (RTS) at a Youth Programme back
then in 1978. Our parents were so proud when they and
our kampong friends watched me dance on the TV
screen with leotards and blue chiffon skirts.
They were so intrigued by the performance and the
interviews. I am not sure if RTS (now MediaCorp TV)
still keeps the footage.
After passing my General Certificate of Education
(GCE) Ordinary Level (“O” Level) examinations, I enrolled
for my Pre-University (Pre-U) education at Tanjong
Katong Girls’ School. Yes, it was another all girls’ school.
I rarely had the opportunities of mingling with boys,
except for the occasional Girl Guides campfires and
performances. However, I was never short of getting
attention from the opposite gender back then.
I started commuting on public buses more to and
from school. At 16, I was already studying at the Pre-U
level. Often, ‘strangers’ would offer to pay bus fares for
me (even though they did not need to as I always carried
Fil ipino bamboo dance to the tune of Tinikling.
45THE PRE-BEGINNING
my bus card). Schoolboys in uniforms stalked me
at bookshops and offered to walk me home. Some
would wait for me at the bus stops just to board the
same bus! It could get quite freaky and frightening.
Even with my green-belt taekwondo and some basic
kung fu knowledge, I still got nervous at times.
Teo family photo (2003).