Tan Heng Swee, 1945-2026

Well, today I just want to say that one of my friends from The Old Frees' Association passed away late on Monday night, on the very day of his 81st birthday. Tan Heng Swee died at the Sungai Bakap Hospital, more than two weeks after he had fallen down in his house for the very last time.

Although we were both OFA members, I didn't actually get to know Heng Swee until 2010. We were among those who attended the state funeral of Dr Lim Chong Eu. We got talking and somehow, the friendship grew from there. When I was hospitalised in 2013, Heng Swee was among the first people to come and visit me. I remember that very well and appreciated it a lot.

Ever since the death of his wife, Alice, three years ago, I had watched his health steadily decline. In the last year or so, he had become so frail that even a walking stick was no longer much help. He kept falling down, sometimes repeatedly, although fortunately he never suffered any serious injury apart from the bruises. There were times when he told me that he had been lying on the floor for hours before he finally found the strength to get himself up.

I can write so much about him in the last years of his life because I had been visiting him almost every week, always carrying a bag of eggs to supplement his diet. So at least I was seeing him with some regularity, albeit only for a few minutes, and could keep an eye on how he was doing. It was probably the least I could do.

I kept telling him that something had to change, like getting himself a full-time live-in maid. But he steadfastly refused. He had a helper who came in once or twice a week, but that was obviously never going to be enough for someone who was falling down as often as he was. 

His refusal had a lot to do with his stubbornness, and anyone who had known Heng Swee for any length of time would know what I mean. He was very loyal to his Old Frees friends and believed that he could always depend on us when he needed help. What he never seemed willing to accept was that there was only so much we could do.

All of his Old Frees friends lived far away from his house in Simpang Ampat and, besides, most of us are more or less his age. We're all getting on in years ourselves and beginning to have our own physical difficulties. Expecting one of us to rush over and lift up a grown man who had fallen on the floor was simply not realistic. But these were realities that Heng Swee chose to ignore. 

As an alternative, I even suggested that he should call his neighbours if he ever got into trouble. They were so much nearer than any of us and you never know when you might need their help one day. I tried explaining to him that, as we grow older, perhaps we should become a little more accommodating. But Heng Swee was stubborn right to the end. Unfortunately, it also left him rather lonely.

And yet, despite all the challenges, he was my friend. I had known him for many years and I shall miss him. Strangely enough, I am also relieved that his struggles are now over. At least he no longer has to worry about falling down, lying helpless on the floor or trying to get himself back on his feet. Goodbye, Heng Swee. I shall miss you for the friendship we shared.

Over in the blink of an eye

And just like that, Chinese New Year is over. All 15 days of it, gone in the twinkling of an eye.

Strange, considering the run-up lasted almost two months for me. The on-and-off spring cleaning, waking early to buy fruits for deity and ancestral worship, stocking up on fresh food for the long stretch of cooking ahead. And of course, preparing for the reunion dinner.

It’s not as though we don’t sit down regularly with my son and daughter. We do. But the Chinese New Year reunion dinner carries a different significance. A whole day is spent in preparation -- washing, chopping, simmering, tasting -- until evening comes and we finally sit down together to enjoy what we’ve made with our own hands. Usually roast chicken, garlic prawns, jiu hoo char, too tor soup. Sometimes a steamboat dinner, but not this year. The food tastes better for the effort.

Once that dinner is over, my annual pre-CNY duties begin. I gum strips of red paper carefully around each fruit, one by one, before arranging them neatly on plates for offering. Then come the gold-stamped worship papers, folded into paper ingots and lotus flowers. These will be burnt after the worship to Soo Kong, our house deity, and the Tnee Kong to welcome in the New Year. By the time everything is done, prayers said, incense offered, and suddenly it is usually close to 2am before we turn in.

The first day of Chinese New Year is vegetarian for us, from breakfast through to dinner. A tradition that has stayed, even as other habits have loosened over the years. We make our way to Bandar Tasek Mutiara to visit my mother-in-law, now the most senior member of the family since my parents and my aunt are no longer with us. Time does its quiet accounting. Generations shift almost without announcement.

Apart from that, we keep things simple. On the sixth day, when we are out visiting the Kuan Imm Teng and the Triple Wisdom Temple on the island, we drop by a long-time family friend’s home more out of habit than obligation. Otherwise, we stay home and wait for visitors, mostly relatives, the house filling and emptying in waves.

And then, before we quite realise it, Chap Goh Meh is upon us. On this day, I make my way to the Swee Cheok Tong, where my Kongsi makes its annual worship to the deities. Our principal deity is Tai Tay Yah, though Tua Pek Kong and Lo Chiah Kong are also prominent in the front hall. In the inner chamber are the Chow Moo Kong and Tay Choo Kong, along with the ancestral tablets. Once the noon worship is completed and the members have dispersed, I make my quiet way to Poh Hock Seah in Armenian Street to pay my respects to the resident Tua Pek Kong there. This is something I’ve done each year since my retirement.

So now, with the 15 days over, the mandarin oranges finished and the unused angpow packets put away, all that remain are the various unfinished Chinese New Year cookies. The red banner above the main doorway comes down, and the house returns to its ordinary rhythm. Two months of preparation. Fifteen days of observance. And it all passes as it always does.

CNY dinner at OFA

I was a little late attending the Chinese New Year dinner and get-together at The Old Frees' Association last Saturday because of a huge traffic congestion in the heritage zone of George Town due to the annual miaohui celebrations. 

By the time I arrived at the OFA, the fire crackers were over and all that remained was a carpet of red in the car park. But I wasn't late for the gathering or the prolonged lion dance performance. 

I also got RM10 back in a red packet that every attending OFA member was given. So effectively, my dinner cost only RM10 net. For those who consumed the beer or stout, they had practically covered their cost back, and for those who did not drink, even the food itself was wide and varied enough to make it worth the while to attend. 

But food was secondary. The main reason I signed up for this get-together was to meet up with old friends. Even though Sanan was the only old friend from my batch in school, it was good to catch up. Several of my chess friends were there too. Then of course, the other non-chess friends whoms I've known through the years. A great moment to catch up with all of them! I had to leave to eight o'clock and thus, missed out on the last item for the night which was the fireworks display. 

I'm sure it was brilliant, but I had to leave for the heritage area to meet my daughter as we were going home together. While walking the streets, bumped into several friends as well. After all, the George Town core heritage zone is such a compact place....

A year on

The empty feeling of losing an old friend still lingers within me, and I had chosen to remain quiet about Oon Hup’s death anniversary yesterday, especially with Emily, his sister. However, she reached out in the evening and shared a video of my late schoolmate exercising at a nursing home, taken not long after his brain surgery. Along with it came a fuller account of his final months. How he had been recovering well, even regaining strength, until October, when his condition suddenly deteriorated. Such is the cruel and relentless nature of glioblastoma, one of the most aggressive forms of cancer. As Emily herself put it:

He was very well after his operation. Even during his radiotherapy sessions at Mt.Miriam hospital. From April, May, June and July, he was in good health. Then the double dose of chemotherapy and cancer caused his deterioration in August. He had to stay in a nursing home from September onwards. Still able to eat on his own, and use his phone and I- pad. But from October, he went downhill very fast. Couldn't use his left leg and arm. Had to sit the whole day in a recliner, fed by Sri Lanka worker. He could still eat on his own on his birthday. But from December, he was no longer speaking, having difficulty in swallowing food, couldn't drink. Had to be fed water and food. So very little sustenance or liquid. Poor fellow. Finally, was sent to the General Hospital and a few days later to the government hospice. Just from Sunday to Thursday, 3 days GH, 2 days hospice. Friday morning, passed away at 5.38 am. Farewell.

Glioblastoma

I lost a schoolmate, known him since we were in Standard Two together, at the beginning of this year to glioblastoma. Now, I’ve just heard from another friend that he is going through the same ordeal, and he’s undergoing surgery in Taiwan today. News I find hard to fathom. The same rare, aggressive brain cancer striking two people I know in such a short span of time.

Glioblastoma (GBM) is not our garden-variety tumour. It’s the most common type of malignant brain tumour in adults, and also the most aggressive. It begins in those support cells in the brain that normally help keep everything running smoothly. Once they go rogue, they don’t just form a neat lump you can scoop out. GBM sends tendrils deep into healthy brain tissue, thus making the idea of a complete removal more of a wish than a reality.

There are two main types. Primary GBM appears out of nowhere and barrels ahead full-speed, while secondary GBM starts off as a slower, lower-grade tumour before mutating into the full-blown menace. Either way, the result is the same fast growth, sudden symptoms and an uphill battle.

The signs can come quickly. Persistent headaches that refuse to budge, seizures out of the blue, nausea, weakness or numbness on one side of the body, problems speaking or finding the right words, blurred or double vision, changes in mood or personality, memory issues, even balance problems. It all depends on which part of the brain is under siege.

Treatment revolves around surgeons, oncologists and radiologists. The first step is surgery to remove as much of the tumour as possible without causing more harm. But they can never get to all those invasive tendrils. Radiation follows to target the area where the tumour was. Then comes chemotherapy. But even with the best treatment, survival hovers around 15 to 20 months. My friend lasted 10 months after surgery. Some people beat the odds and live several years, but long-term survivors are rare.

There’s plenty of research going on with new drugs, immunotherapies, better surgical methods and genetic profiling to personalise treatments. But for now, the reality is harsh. So today, while my friend is in an operating theatre in Taiwan, I’m thinking about how fragile things are. How one ordinary day can suddenly turn into a fight for your life. And how unfair it feels when lightning strikes twice in your own circle of friends.

UPDATE (14 October 2025): I've lost him too, yesterday....

Footsteps and echoes

I had an overnight stay at the One Pacific Hotel along MacAlister Road, accompanying my wife for a medical procedure—nothing serious, by the way—at the LohGuanLye Specialist Centre just across the road. While she was waiting for her check-up, I took the opportunity to go on a long exploratory morning walk around the area. It was something I’d been wanting to do for a long time, but never quite got around to, since we live on the mainland. 

I must say that the One Pacific Hotel—like so many others in this area: Grand Inn, Landison, Tropicana, Courtyard, Red Rock, Travelodge, etc—makes a very convenient starting point for people wanting to explore the lesser-known tourist spots around MacAlister Road. That includes the makan places too, with New Lane being the focal point for many. However, people should be wary of the numerous durian stalls lining both sides of MacAlister Road because these might be pre-season fruit, very likely from out-of-state. Let's get into my story now.

Exiting from the old entrance of the hospital, I walked the length of Logan Road and felt a bit saddened by all the high-rise buildings that have taken the place of the old heritage bungalows that once lined the street. Still, I came across two stately, refurbished buildings that had resisted demolition and are now repurposed as nursing homes. Several decades ago, there were maybe five or six similar bungalows along this stretch of Logan Road, but one by one, the owners sold them off and residential towers sprang up in their place—until only these two were left. One of my old classmates, Oon Hup, used to live at No. 3-G, now long gone, of course.

Turning left into Anson Road, I wandered into the Old Winston Coffee Garden and thought for a moment about having the beef koay teow soup for breakfast. Decided against it. I left through the back entrance, took a walk down the back alley and emerged onto Rangoon Road, where I bought a packet of banana pancake from the lady hawker. That done, I cut across the Old Winston again and, emerging back on Anson Road, continued walking towards Penang Plaza. 

Just behind the plaza was One Corner Café, where I finally settled on a bowl of hokkien mee for breakfast. It wasn’t bad at all. Different stalls have their own way of preparing this hawker favourite, and here, I could really taste the full flavour of prawns in the broth. Quite satisfying.

Instead of retracing my steps along Anson Road, I took the long stretch of Burmah Road all the way to the Pangkor Road junction. Along the way, I paused in front of No. 229-B, where another of my old classmates, Chuan Keat, used to live during our schooldays. It brought back a wave of nostalgia—so many memories, now tucked away behind a gate that hadn't been there before. 

A little further on, I made a short stop at the corner to snap a few photos of the Victoria Memorial, unveiled in 1930 by Cecil Clementi, then Governor of the Straits Settlements. The statue still stands proudly on its pedestal, surrounded by four stone lions and their Union Jack shields. It’s part of the grounds of the Chinese Recreation Club (CRC). Victoria Green, where the CRC is located, was a public field gifted by the Chinese community in honour of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee in 1887. The CRC itself was founded in 1892. Facilities were developed around the green over time, and the club became well known for cricket, tennis, badminton and more recently, community events. It remains one of the island’s most historic and respected social and sports clubs.

Turning left, I continued along Pangkor Road, then Perak Road, making a short detour into Khaw Sim Bee Road to look at the former Rediffusion building, until I reached the junction with Logan Road. And that’s where my four-kilometre-long morning walk ended, as I stepped back into the air-conditioned comfort of the LohGuanLye Specialist Centre.

ADDENDUM: I've also included some photos of MacAlister Road which I had taken the previous evening when I walked down in search of dinner.

My old classmate, Yeoh Oon Hup, now deceased, used to stay in one of these old bungalows. This particular one is now used as a nursing home

A second old classmate, Khoo Chuan Keat, also deceased, stayed here. The low stone walls that surrounded the houses along this stretch of road have all disappeared. In their place are metal gates that have destroyed the unique charm of the old houses 

From January to April 1963, this building in Perak Road served as the temporary premises of The Old Frees' Association while the Northam Road premises was being built

The old Rediffusion building which was acquired by the Penang Christian Centre after it had remained empty for quite a while

Behind this pillar stands the Buddhist Tzu Chi Dialysis Centre Penang. This is at the corner of Perak Road and Logan Road

The 218MacAlister building which houses the Tropicana and the Courtyard by Marriott

Soon-to-open 22 MacAlister Exsim which I suppose will be another hotel

This is the Ta Yuen Foh Thang (大圆佛堂), a temple run by vegetarian Mahayana nuns. It was established in 1883 which makes the temple 142 years old. I used to come here as a small boy, six or seven years old, brought along by my grandmother when she wanted to buy stuff. The place is filled with huge statues of Buddhist deities, with some arranged around a central dais in the main building. I used to tear around the gloomy prayer hall, completely unbothered by the stillness of the place and unfazed by the eyes of the statues looking down on me. Hardly anyone visited the temple back then, and I don’t think that’s changed much over the years—it still looks closed most of the time, quiet and undisturbed despite the presence of vehicles in the compound.

A demised friend's room

When one of my closest friends passed away last January, I knew he had left behind a treasure trove in his room. Among many things, he was a man of books and thought, someone who always found comfort in pages and print. Still, I had no inkling of the extent—or the sheer richness—of what he had kept close to him all those years.

His sister was in the process of clearing out the room and had kindly invited a few of his friends over, suggesting we take anything that held meaning to us, anything we might want to keep as a memento. What I saw when I stepped inside truly astounded me.

One side of his room was lined with bookshelves, every inch occupied. Two full rows were dedicated to computer books—outdated, of course, as technology marches on relentlessly and renders manuals obsolete within years. But beyond that were the real gems: another two rows filled with classic literature and dictionaries. These were books with weight—not just physical, but intellectual and emotional. Titles that spanned centuries, works that had shaped civilisations.

He had been a passionate reader, especially of ancient history. His shelves were filled with Penguin Classics and scholarly translations of the great writers and thinkers of the past—Caesar, Homer, Livy, Plato, Tacitus, Plutarch, Thucydides. It made me pause, because in that moment, I recognised a kindred spirit. When I was in my twenties, I too had spent many hours with Homer, Aeschylus, Sophocles and the like. Oddly enough, we had never discussed our shared reading interests at all, but there it was—evidence that we had been walking rather parallel paths in our separate, private ways.

And then there were the dictionaries. At least three sets of English-language dictionaries, not counting the Bahasa versions. Pride of place went to the Oxford English Reference Dictionary, and beside it, the magnificent two-volume set of the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (Sixth Edition). They looked almost regal on the shelf, like sentinels watching over him while he read.

His sister had said, “Take whatever you like. Once everyone’s had a look, I’ll be calling the recycling people to clear out the rest.” My heart sank a little at that. These books—these precious written treasures—meant something. They represented a lifetime of curiosity, of quiet evenings, of reflection and learning. To think they might end up in a second-hand shop, or worse, in a landfill, was too much to bear.

So I made a decision. I took what I could—some of the classic titles, these two dictionaries, anything I felt carried a spirit of him—and left the tech manuals behind, naturally. My plan is to donate them to a library, perhaps one that still values the printed word, where students or lovers of history might browse them and feel, as he once must have, a sense of wonder at the past.

It’s a small way to honour him, but one I hope he would have appreciated. Books, after all, aren’t just objects. They’re memories, ideas, voices—and sometimes, they’re the closest we get to holding onto the soul of someone who’s gone. I shall miss you, my old friend, for the conversations we had and the conversations we never had.

Shared journey ahead

A great get-together yesterday with friends from the Class of 71/73. They were one year my junior at Penang Free School. I was in Form Five in 1970; these fellas were in Form Five in 1971. However, we could be all of the same age. I’m not too sure about Boon Thai, Eng Hong or Hong Pun, but I do know Charn Hong and I were both born in 1954. In fact, we were even in the same Standard One class at Westlands School—until we went our separate ways a year later. Reconnecting much later in our adult lives had been a real source of satisfaction for me.

Eng Hong and I used to live on Seang Tek Road—on opposite sides, but practically diagonally across from each other. Strangely enough, we only got to know each other properly when we joined Ban Hin Lee Bank in the late 1970s. He was working as an internal auditor then. As for Boon Thai, I only got to know him last year, and Hong Pun just this year.

We had lunch together at the OFA Restaurant, and then went upstairs to the Library for some discussions on an upcoming project. All in all, a very meaningful afternoon—with friends bound by time, school and now, a shared journey ahead.

Peter Long, 1961-2025

Surprising news to share today—I’ve just learnt that Peter Long Chay Boon, a fellow chess journalist, passed away suddenly this morning in Rangoon, Burma, while participating in the Yangon Summer Friendship Chess Tournament. Peter was 64, far too young to be taken away.

When I first met him, he was still in secondary school in Petaling Jaya. Later, I learnt that he had moved to the Philippines for further studies.

How will history judge him? Like me, he had an insatiable urge to tell chess stories in the newspapers. For some time in the 1980s, he contributed to the New Straits Times. But his impulsiveness and outspokenness often put him at odds with the Malaysian Chess Federation. His sharp criticism of certain chess personalities eventually led to his column being suspended—a big example of his foolhardiness. But it wasn’t an isolated case; it was a streak that ran deep in him. He was a tinderbox, always ready to ignite, always wanting things his way. While I respected his frankness and brazenness, I also knew his refusal to hold back would land him in trouble sooner or later. I tend to be diplomatic in my writing, but not him. Peter never hesitated to call a cad a cad—and that was what brought him down.

He was very full of himself. A big ego which was bigger than almost anyone else in the Malaysian chess community, save for one or two others. I’d even dare say he could count his true local chess friends on only one hand. Acquaintances and friends among the foreigners, though—he had plenty. While I was still contributing to the newspapers, we were always respectful of one another as fellow chess journalists. But in the last decade or so, a certain aloofness descended on him—a refusal to acknowledge the presence of many of his fellow local chess players. It was as if he’d outgrown them, or at least thought he had. Yes, he never learnt to be humble, nor did he ever seem to want to.

His passing in a foreign land is a sobering reminder that death can strike at any time. This year alone, I’ve learnt of three people who passed away overseas. A classmate of mine died while on holiday in South Korea on the fourth of January. Then, on the 22nd of February, the son of a doctor friend passed away in Okinawa. And now, Peter, in Burma. Such tragedies bring immense strain to their loved ones—so much red tape to unravel before their remains can be brought home, not to mention the costs involved.

At this time, my thoughts are with Peter’s family. May they find comfort in knowing that, in his final days, he was doing what he loved most—playing chess and surrounding himself with chess people from anywhere but home.

91 The Home Store

Last October, we were invited to the opening of 91 The Home Store at the Teras Jaya Business Zone in Butterworth. The general store, run by our ex-colleague from Ban Hin Lee Bank, Lau Theng Sim, offers a wide range of household and office goods. We spent a few enjoyable hours there, taking in the lively atmosphere, complete with a lion dance, firecrackers and a good meal. There were great opening-day deals, and I even went home with a 20,000mAh power bank. I would have shared this story earlier, but it took me a while to locate and upload my video to YouTube. But here it is, finally!

Jackie Tang Heam Peng (1954-2025)

This January has been a truly torrid month for us former Westlanders, Class of 1965. As we were still reeling from the loss of our two dear 70-year-old friends, Oon Hup and Seng Oo, who passed away on the third and fourth of the month respectively, news came last Thursday, the 23rd, of yet another classmate's death.

I must admit, I did not know Tang Heam Peng well. In fact, I believe the last time I saw him was during our school days at Penang Free School, sometime in the latter half of the 1960s. We lost touch after that and never crossed paths again, though mutual friends occasionally spoke of him, mentioning his early career in London, where he ran an outlet of Ladbrokes, the gaming company, and shared stories of meeting him either in London or in Singapore, where his daughter lived.

In his younger days, Heam Peng was known for his skill in horse riding, a passion nurtured by his father, who owned a racing stable. Friends recall seeing him ride horses at the Polo Ground in Sepoy Lines, near the Penang Sports Club.

Tragically, Heam Peng, also 70 years old, suffered a heart attack on Thursday evening, just about a month after having a pacemaker implanted. Although paramedics made valiant efforts to revive him, he never regained consciousness.

Three old classmates, all the same age, gone in the space of a single month. This January has been a harsh and poignant reminder of life's fragility.

Celebrating departed old friends

In my opinion, the turnout could have been much better for this intimate gathering yesterday in the Penang Sports Club yesterday to celebrate the life of Oon Hup, who passed away earlier this month. Clearly, Oon Hup should have had more friends than this on Penang island! Surely, more than 50 years of friendship that began from schooldays should count for something, right? And yet....

Anyhow, among the few of us there, we spent well over three hours sharing memories of our departed comrade. Some of us also reminisced about Seng Oo, another old schoolmate we recently lost, and reflected on life and health. The sudden loss of two friends in such quick succession was deeply unsettling for everyone.

Throughout the conversation, we shared stories about Oon Hup and Seng Oo—their quirks, their lives and the times we spent together. Some had known them since Westlands Primary School, others only from Penang Free School, while a few knew them more recently. 

I took the opportunity to recount my recent encounter with Ajahn Siripanyo, who advised me to live the remainder of our lives as fully and meaningfully as possible. If anything, learn from both Oon Hup and Seng Oo who remind us how fragile life is, how little we know of the time we have left, and how important it is to cherish every moment.

Guided by this thought and led by Leslie, we came together in prayer for Oon Hup before moving to a simple lunch within the club premises. The event was organised at the request of his sister, Emily, to honour his lifelong friendships, and it was generously hosted by Leslie.

In the picture below, we have (from left to right): Yoong Koi, Hock Thiam, Sukumaran, Kay Liang, myself, Swee Poh and Letchmi, Emily, Sanan and Leslie. I had also earlier informed Emily of the apologies from Michael, Teik Wah, Guan Khim and Chien Ch'eng, who were unable to attend as they were either out of town or living overseas. But Guan Khim went a step further to connect through social media and spoke to everyone present.

Diversity

I consider myself rather fortunate to be among the few who are firmly grounded with the Class of 1972 at Penang Free School while maintaining ties with my original cohort, the Class of 1973. Recently, I had the pleasure of attending a post-New Year lunch with some old schoolmates from the latter class. It was a delightful gathering—a different circle of friends, bringing fresh ideas and diverse discussions to the table.

Oon Hup and Seng Oo (1954-2025)

The turn of the year has been a sombre one for me. As I sat having lunch with friends at the Penang Club on 3rd January—and listening to an impromptu talk on Buddhism—a heavy thought lingered at the back of my mind: one of my closest school friends, Yeoh Oon Hup, was being cremated that very moment. A loyal OFA life member, Oon Hup had battled cancer for 11 months before passing away less than two months after his 70th birthday. He had requested no wake, choosing instead for his ashes to be scattered into the sea, a quiet farewell befitting his unassuming nature.

The very next day, 4th January, brought more devastating news. Another old schoolmate, Ang Seng Oo, passed away suddenly while on holiday in Busan, South Korea, less than three weeks after celebrating his 70th birthday. Seng Oo will be cremated in Busan, and his ashes will be brought home to Kuala Lumpur. The shock of losing two cherished friends—whom I had known since Standard Two at Westlands School—on consecutive days is indescribable. The sense of loss is profound, leaving me numb and grappling with the fragility of life.

These losses are not isolated. Over the past nine months, I have bid farewell to five school mates who had just crossed their 70th or 71st birthdays, Oon Hup and Seng Oo among them. Two were based in Penang and were OFA life members, while two others lived in Kuala Lumpur and one overseas in California. Each departure serves as a stark reminder of the significance of reaching 70—a milestone both physical and mental.

To all those still in your forties, fifties, or sixties, let me tell you this: cherish every moment of your life's journey. Reaching 70 is not just a number but a testament to resilience and fortune. And to those who have crossed this landmark age, treasure each day you have. We never know who among us might not see 71.

My dear friend Seng Oo, in particular, leaves behind a legacy of integrity and compassion. An accomplished accountant, he was deeply committed to issues of social justice, fairness and equality. He was never afraid to speak up against monopolies or political hegemony, often articulating his views with clarity and courage. His humour and camaraderie were equally memorable. It’s difficult to reconcile his untimely passing with the image of someone so vibrant and fit.

These losses weigh heavily, especially at the start of a new year. Yet, they also remind us of life’s impermanence and the need to cherish those around us. As we continue our journeys, let us remember to celebrate milestones, honour friendships and carry forward the legacies of those who have touched our lives.

Such is the progression of life and death—a poignant reminder that each day is a gift not to be taken for granted.

POSTSCRIPT: 

The three other schoolmates who passed away in the past nine months were Lee Keat Heng, Wong Ban Pak, and Kam Wei Lin.

Keat Heng and I shared a classroom in Standard One at Westlands School, but our educational paths diverged from Standard Two onwards. While I moved to an express class that skipped to Standard Four, he remained in the regular stream, advancing to Standard Three. This divergence meant that he became a year my junior at both Westlands School and Penang Free School. Due to this gap, our paths only crossed again in the last decade or so, allowing us to reconnect. Tragically, in May last year, just three days after celebrating his 70th birthday, he collapsed while jogging.

I came to know both Ban Pak and Wei Lin in Form One at secondary school. Ban Pak was, sadly, a rather irritable character. Though I loosely describe him as a "friend," he was not someone many would have stayed in close contact with. However, we did share a unique connection—we travelled to school together in a hired car. In those days, there were no school buses, and most parents couldn’t afford cars or the time to ferry their children to school personally. Instead, families relied on "school taxis," hired private cars who picked up students and dropped them off. By coincidence, Ban Pak and I shared the same school taxi. Every morning, the driver would pick me up before stopping at Ban Pak’s house on Bawasah Road. Ban Pak had a sharp eye for electronics and pursued a career in the field, eventually finding work and settling down in the United States after graduating. He passed away in June last year, leaving behind memories of our shared rides and a glimpse into a different era of schooling in Penang.

Wei Lin, on the other hand, was someone whose path intertwined with mine beyond Free School. After completing our studies, we both attended Tunku Abdul Rahman College in Petaling Jaya. Following his graduation, he joined Malaysia Customs, with an office conveniently located near Ban Hin Lee Bank. As a result, we often bumped into each other during that time. Unfortunately, in September, Wei Lin succumbed to septicaemia, a condition that claimed him far too soon.

Farewell, Oon Hup (1954-2025)

I dreaded for this day to come and today, my heart grieves as I say my farewell to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Yeoh Oon Hup. 

I had known him since Standard Two in Westlands Primary School. He passed away this morning after an 11-month battle with cancer. Glioblastoma multiforme, I am told, is rather aggressive. After his operation, he recuperated at a nursing home in Ross Road while undergoing chemical and radiotherapy sessions. But by end of October, he had been taken off treatment as his body was already too frail. It was downhill after that. Every time that I visited him, I could see his condition worsening. He could barely whisper and the only way I could think of communicating with him was through music. I loaded my mobile phone with the music he loved, songs of the 1960s and 1970s, and I played them close to his ear. I shall cherish those remaining moments of interaction. 

I shall miss you terribly, Oon Hup. I shall miss the annual telephone calls we made to one another on our birthdays, even when you were working overseas. I shall miss all that but most of all, i shall miss your intellectual presence and your forceful opinions.

Our last picture together, taken at a nursing home on 08 December 2024:

Food and friends

My recent trip to Singapore wasn’t entirely about chess—those moments were reserved for the late afternoons and evenings. So, what did I do during the mornings and mid-afternoons? For one thing, it was all about the food.

On two mornings in Geylang, I set out to explore the area in search of Bak Chor Mee, a Singaporean street food I find utterly irresistible. Every time I’m in the Little Red Dot, indulging in this dish becomes a priority. While I’m happy with any variety, the traditional style remains my favourite. Over two days, I managed to find two stalls—one at the Sims Vista Market and Food Centre, which was a bit farther from my hotel, and the other at a nearby coffee shop. My tastebuds decided: the stall at Sims Vista was definitely the better of the two.

On my last morning in Singapore, I opted for breakfast at a 24-hour roti prata restaurant just minutes from the hotel. Their thosai masala was delicious—a perfect way to wrap up my morning culinary adventures in Geylang.

Of course, my food explorations weren’t limited to the mornings. On one of the nights, I introduced one of my travelling chessmates to a popular beef hor fun restaurant in Geylang. It’s a place I’ve visited many times before, but it was his first time there, and the experience didn’t disappoint.

Another objective of my trip was to reconnect with friends and relatives. Unfortunately, I couldn’t meet my younger relatives—our schedules simply didn’t align. They were busy working and making money during the mornings while I was free, and when they were available in the evenings, I was tied up at the World Chess Championship matches in Sentosa. One was so consumed by religious fervour that giving me some time of day might have required divine intervention! That left my old classmates to call on, reliable people who, like me, were either retired or working less intensively nowadays. On Saturday, I met up with Nai Kwang and his wife, Eve, for lunch, and on Sunday, I caught up with Teik Kooi and his wife, Cynthia.

Teik Kooi and I go back a long way. He's my oldest school friend, we having known each other since kindergarten days in Seang Tek Road. And then during our Westlands Primary schooldays, learnt that we could be distantly related to one another as we shared some common relatives (who were then living in Hutton Lane and New Lane) while visiting these relatives during Chinese New Year. We discovered our common interest in chess during our Secondary schooldays at Penang Free School and naturally here in Singapore, we had much to discuss about the match between Ding Liren and Gukesh Dommaraju. He was initially doubtful about the quality of the games but I encouraged him to attend the games, pointing out that such a high-level chess event in Singapore, where he’s now a citizen, could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’m not sure if he took my advice, but after I returned home to Penang, we continued exchanging notes about the games via social media.

With Nai Kwang, our time together was very much less about chess—his awareness about the game was limited to what he could read in the local newspapers about the chess match—and more about exploration. A passionate walker, he took me meandering through the streets of Little India. I wasn't complaining; in fact, I looked forward to it as I got a unique glimpse into Singapore’s daily life. We made a detour to the Sakya Muni Buddha Gaya temple, which I shall write about on another occasion. 

Our long walk ended at Muthu’s Curry, a very popular and well-patronised South Indian restaurant, where we enjoyed a fiery feast of fish head curry, lamb shank and naan bread. Lunch with Teik Kooi, on the other hand, was a completely different experience. He introduced me to the Sunday buffet at the Fullerton Hotel, the building once housing the Singapore Post Office. The sumptuous spread featured an array of delicacies, with seafood being the undeniable highlight.

Cryptic clues

On the spur of the moment, I attended a remarkable sharing session this afternoon led by fellow OFA member and chess kaki, Liong Chian Min, who shared a detailed account of his experiences participating in treasure hunts across the country. He began with crossword puzzles during his university days and later found treasure hunts equally appealing, given that the clues were as cryptic as those in crosswords. For the past 24 years, he’s been fully immersed in treasure hunting, which he finds an incredibly rewarding hobby.

During the session, he broadened our perspectives—there were about 20 of us in attendance—on deciphering treasure hunt clues. It takes a lot of lateral, out-of-the-box thinking. Personally, I believe that having a slightly devious mind—though I’m not suggesting Chian Min has one—certainly helps. His passion for the hobby was infectious, and by the end of the session, many of us were curious to try our hand at a treasure hunt.

Anyway, I applaud him for his insightful sharing. In my book, he's the leading proponent of treasure hunting at The Old Frees' Association, and after listening to him, I can see why he’s so highly regarded in this unique world of puzzle-solving adventures.

Another reunion coming up!

This is an old picture from the 1990s, taken after Ban Hin Lee Bank had moved from downtown Beach Street to the multi-storey building on Northam Road. The podium block had four storeys, with the entire third level occupied by the Information Technology Department. From this floor, the view overlooking the main road and the old mansions on the opposite side was outstanding...we were positioned high enough to get an elevated view as life (and the traffic) passed by below us. I was with the Systems and Quality Control Department at the time, which took up about a third of the overall floor space. My unit was responsible for reviewing the bank's operations manuals and coordinating the implementation of new services that required practical testing of the computer systems. This was one of the very few photos we took back then. It’s quite blurry and fuzzy, and I can barely make out the faces of some of my former colleagues.

But never mind, there’ll be a chance for us to take fresh pictures, nearly three decades later, when we meet at the Mercure Hotel in Tanjong Bungah on the 9th of November for an Ex-BHL ITD Gathering. That’s what they’re calling it. The organising committee told me they've managed to compile a list of more than 150 people who worked in the ITD Division over the years. For the past month or two, they’ve been hard at work reaching out to all these former colleagues, encouraging them to join the gathering. The latest update is that 77 of us will be attending the dinner. A few are bringing their spouses. Not a bad turnout, really, considering that the bank ceased to exist 24 years ago and everyone had gone their separate ways. But for this reunion, we even have someone making the trip from Singapore! It’ll be great to meet again…

Old farts talking cock

Old friends from our Westlands Primary schooldays gathered for a small chit-chat over dinner on Saturday night at one of Penang's oldest Hainanese seafood restaurants, the Ocean Green. The exact date when this restaurant began its business is uncertain, but there are indications that it could be some 40 to 50 years ago. Nevertheless, it sits on the seafront, directly in front of the Paramount Hotel, which had its beginnings after the Second World War. As the land on which the restaurant sits also belongs to the hotel's owners, I would presume that long before the restaurant was set up, this area fronting the hotel was used for catering functions, where the best-dressed baba-nyonya would turn up for dances and makan-makan sessions. When these activities became less popular in the late 1970s, the hotel owners decided to convert the vacant area into a dining area with a roof to shelter people from the elements. Even today, it attracts a large crowd of local diners, with their foreign or outstation guests in tow, for its delectable traditional Hainanese dishes such as choon piah, grilled spring chicken, satay and more. The seven of us old farts, with at least 490 years between us, spent close to three hours exchanging opinions, gossip and generally talking cock in the restaurant, and our wallets were thinner by some RM50 each. But it was time well spent as some of us had not seen one another for at least a year. Our opinions were, however, another matter as we were very certain that whatever we said, they surely won't change the world during our lifetime.

Ewe Leong, Chien Ch'eng, Seng Huat, Oon Hup, Siang Jin, Seng Huat and I

Feasting on friendship

A love affair with a thorny fruit and that's the annual OFA durian party. A perfect time to catch up with friends - old schoolmates with shared interests - over durian at Anjung Indah. This spot, roughly midway on the Tun Sardon Road linking Paya Terubong to Balik Pulau, had makeshift durian stalls set up to sell the fruit loved by most Malaysians and even some foreigners.

It was here that we, the members of The Old Frees' Association, gathered yesterday morning. It was here that we indulged in durian, chempedak, rambutan and mangosteen. And yes, it was here that we risked our health by consuming the sweetest local fruits in massive amounts. But hey, it's an annual event that couldn't be missed. This event brought members together, young and old, rubbing shoulders and sharing fruit around. It was the perfect occasion for camaraderie.