I haven't attended a George Town Festival programme in years. When was the last time? I can't remember, but it was definitely before Covid-19. Funny how we've started classifying events as "pre-Covid" and "post-Covid", almost as though history has been split into two distinct eras. Anyway, I remember my last George Town Festival outing. It was to the old Soonstead mansion in Northam Road for 2 Houses, a play that required the audience to move between two neighbouring buildings. The houses themselves became part of the performance, blurring the line between theatre and reality.
This year, it wasn't a play that brought me back. Instead, it was a concert called The Malaysian Real Book II: Past to Present, part of this year's George Town Festival. To be honest, I had never even heard of The Malaysian Real Book. Apparently, the inaugural concert had been staged last year and was successful enough to earn an encore. It had completely passed me by.
My invitation came from an unexpected source. See Ming, a dear ex-JobStreet colleague from Kuala Lumpur, had planned to meet me on the fourth of August while she was in Penang. Unfortunately, I already had another engagement. Rather than abandon the idea altogether, she surprised me by buying a ticket for the following evening's performance before flying off on her own travels. It was one of those small acts of kindness that catches you by surprise.
So on the fifth, I found myself stepping into the Majestic Theatre in Khoo Sian Ewe Road, a venue I had not stepped into since 2019. Instinctively, I looked for a strategic position. The front rows were all occupied by the well-connected, but the back row suited me perfectly. Only three seats made up my row, mine and those of an elderly Caucasian couple sitting beside me. Little did I know they would become part of my evening's entertainment.
The concert itself was unlike the jazz performances most people would probably expect. There were no familiar American standards, no Gershwin, no Duke Ellington, no Fly Me to the Moon. Instead, this was unapologetically Malaysian.
The three featured vocalists, Janet Lee, Ida Mariana and Yon Lynn, explored a repertoire that drew on the country's multicultural musical traditions. Some songs were well known, others completely unknown to me, but all had been lovingly reimagined through the language of jazz. Backing them was the WVC Jazz Quintet under the direction of Tay Cher Siang, whose musicians seemed equally at home accompanying a gentle ballad, a lively Hokkien number or an energetic jazz improvisation. Keeping the evening flowing were Gareth Richards and Melina, who introduced the songs with warmth and humour without ever overstaying their welcome.
As I listened, I occasionally glanced sideways at my Caucasian neighbours. Their expressions became increasingly difficult to read. It wasn't that the music lacked quality. Far from it. The problem, I suspect, was that the concert demanded a familiarity with Malaysian culture that overseas visitors simply could not be expected to possess.
When the singers launched into Malay classics, Penang Hokkien songs and Mandarin compositions, much of the audience responded with smiles of recognition. Heads nodded. Feet tapped. Some quietly sang along. The couple beside me sat politely through it all. And after about an hour, they quietly stood up and left. They never came back. I almost felt sorry for them because they had missed the second half, which I thought was even more enjoyable than the first.
The programme wandered effortlessly across Malaysia's musical landscape. There were songs by P Ramlee, instrumental compositions by contemporary Malaysian jazz musicians, a charming Penang Hokkien bossa number, Chinese melodies with unmistakable Nanyang flavours and, towards the end, Francisca Peter's Setia, which had much of the audience singing along. This was jazz wearing a Malaysian passport. The melodies, languages and stories belonged unmistakably to us.
Too often, when we speak about preserving our heritage, we think only of old buildings, temples, clan houses or food. Rarely do we include music in that conversation. Yet Malaysian music is every bit as much a part of our cultural identity. Projects like The Malaysian Real Book remind us that our musical heritage deserves to be documented, celebrated and performed, not simply archived away as memories of another generation.
When the concert finally ended after the encore, the audience were already on their feet in enthusiastic applause. Many had spent the evening clapping along. A few even danced. It was obvious this wasn't merely another jazz concert. It was a celebration of who we are.
As I walked out into the warm Penang night, I couldn't help looking back at the brightly lit Majestic Theatre. I found myself thinking that perhaps See Ming had done me a favour without even realising it. Had she not bought that ticket, I would probably have stayed home and remained blissfully unaware that such a remarkable project existed.
Sometimes all it takes is one thoughtful friend to nudge us out of our routines and remind us that there is still plenty happening around us. And perhaps that's the greatest gift George Town Festival continues to offer after all these years: the chance to discover, in our own backyard, something I never knew I was missing.
July was sort of a momentous month for me. Not only was I given an award by the Penang Governor and then invited to the reopening of the Penang State Museum a few days later, there was also the release of a 90-minute podcast by the people behind Penang Hidden Gems. But be forewarned that the podcast was filmed in February 2025 and only now made available for viewing on YouTube. And so, some of the circumstances and references that I mentioned in this podcast are out of date. More than a year later, I have more or less forgotten what we talked about.
That was probably why, when I finally sat down to watch it, I found myself listening almost like any other viewer. The conversation brought back memories of things that I had not thought about for quite some time.
The interview was supposed to be about me, but in reality, it became a journey through several chapters of my life, from banking, writing, chess and community work to Penang Free School and the many people and events that shaped my journey.
The hosts introduced me as someone they called a “multi-hyphenate” writer, blogger, chess enthusiast and, as I jokingly prefer to describe myself, a chess addict. I have to admit that “multi-hyphenate” sounds rather grand. I usually just think of myself as someone who has been curious about many things and somehow ended up doing a little bit of everything.
During my working life, I started out at Ban Hin Lee Bank, where I spent 23 years before moving into something completely different. I joined JobStreet as Editorial Manager, a move that took me from banking into the world of content and communications. It was a major change of direction, though not as drastic as it might have seemed, since writing had always been part of my life. Instead of dealing with systems and banking operations, I found myself working on articles, announcements and promotional materials. Anything that JobStreet wanted to publish publicly would pass through my hands before release.
But when the conversation began, the hosts quickly steered the discussion towards the subject that probably defines me more than any job I ever held: chess. That was how I first came into contact with them. Eugene, one of the hosts of the podcast, had seen me at chess events, including Penang Chess Association activities and the old Penang Free School Open. To him, I was the familiar figure who was always somewhere in the background organising things.
Moe jokingly called me part of the “chess Illuminati”. I suppose after more than five decades involved in chess, I cannot deny that I have spent a large part of my life lurking around chessboards. My journey with chess began quite late in my school life, after Form Three at Penang Free School. Those were the days when, after sitting for the Lower Certificate of Education examination, there was not much to do while waiting for the next school year to begin. I picked up a chess book, learnt the rules and started playing.
When I entered Form Four, I joined the school chess club. The seniors noticed that I could play reasonably well and invited me to join the junior team. That year, I represented the school in inter-school competitions. And I lost every single game. But that was probably the best education I could have received. Chess, like many things in life, teaches you through your failures. You lose, you learn, you improve and you come back stronger.
Over the years, my involvement in chess evolved. I was no longer just a player but also became involved in organising tournaments and eventually as an arbiter. The arbiter ensures that the Laws of Chess are followed and resolves disputes when they occur. In the early days, disputes were more common, especially over the touch-move rule. If you deliberately touch a piece, you must move that piece if a legal move is available. Many players were unfamiliar with the rule and arguments would arise.
Another challenge was maintaining silence during tournaments. In those days, spectators were allowed to walk around and observe games. I still remember one gentleman who would go from board to board, look at the positions and loudly mutter suggestions to himself, “You should move this…” Of course, the players could hear him, and the organisers had to keep telling him: “Please move away. Quiet, please.” Fortunately, such incidents are much less common nowadays.
One topic that naturally came up was the Penang Chess Association. The association was founded in 1972, with the inaugural Annual General Meeting held at the then Penang Library on Farquhar Street. I was one of about 50 founder members. And more than 50 years later, I am the only founder member who is still actively involved. The hosts called me the “Yoda of Penang chess”. I am not sure whether I should be flattered or worried.
Time has shown that the Penang Chess Association has played an important role in developing chess in the state. Today, tournaments are organised regularly, sometimes large events and sometimes smaller ones, but there is almost always something happening. The association has also received recognition from the Penang State Sports Council. A few years ago, we were placed in Category A, the highest category for sports associations. That was a proud moment because it showed that chess, despite being a mind sport, was receiving the same recognition as other sporting activities. And at the last SUKMA Games, chess contributed five gold medals.
One of the interesting parts of the interview was discussing how much chess has changed over the decades. When I started playing, we learnt from books. If you were fortunate, you might find a stronger player willing to sit down and analyse games with you.
Today, everything is different. A young player can watch the world's best players online, access databases containing millions of games and use computer engines that can analyse positions far beyond human ability. The youngsters today have opportunities that my generation could only dream about. That is why today's young players are so much stronger.
But although technology has transformed chess, the essence of the game remains unchanged. The board is still 64 squares, each player still starts with 16 pieces, and the rules remain fundamentally the same. Yet every generation discovers something new and that's the beauty of chess.
Perhaps the greatest attraction of chess is that it is one of the few activities where age and physical ability matter so little. A child can defeat an adult. A young player can compete against someone old enough to be his grandfather. Men and women can compete together. The board does not care about your age, your background or your physical limitations. Even someone with a physical disability can compete on equal terms. The game only calls for a player to find the best move. And perhaps that is why, after all these years, I am still drawn to those 64 squares.
So watching the podcast was a little like opening an old photo album and the memories came flooding back. I am grateful to Eugene and Moe, the team behind Penang Hidden Gems, for giving me the opportunity to talk about the things that have been such a big part of my life: chess, writing, Penang and the many experiences that have come along the way.
Anyone interested in the full 90-minute conversation can watch it below. Just bear in mind that it was recorded in February 2025, so some references may be slightly dated. But then again, memories are like old chess games. Even years later, there is always something interesting to rediscover when you look back at them.
Anyone visiting the newly reopened Penang State Museum could be forgiven for thinking that it is, in part at least, a museum devoted to Penang Free School.
That was certainly my first impression when I finally ventured beyond the curtain at the entrance. During the official reopening by the Penang Governor last Thursday evening, I never actually got that far. I had made a beeline for the marble plaque listing the donors to the building fund in 1895-96, then somehow got sidetracked into conversation with someone and never saw the rest of the museum.
So on Sunday, I returned with Saw See for a proper visit. We headed upstairs and found ourselves in a corridor paying tribute to Penang's historic schools. Along one wall stood four child-sized mannequins dressed in the familiar white uniform of Penang Free School, complete with school ties and crest badges. One even wore the dark navy-blue blazer of a School Prefect. A video projection showed Free School boys and prefects running down the corridor, as though eagerly hurrying off to class.
Following their lead, we arrived at the room at the far end of the corridor. It turned out to be entirely dedicated to Penang Free School. And why not?
After all, the museum building itself was once the school's home, built specifically for that purpose. Constructed in two stages, the first wing adjoining the Church of the Assumption was completed in 1896, while the second wing, extending towards St George's Church, was added in 1906. During the Allied bombing campaign of 1944 and 1945, carried out by the RAF and the US Army Air Forces to weaken the Japanese occupation of Penang, much of the later wing was destroyed. It was one of many colonial-era buildings that suffered damage in the raids. The surviving half eventually became the Penang State Museum in 1965: a history made even more tangible today by the excavated foundations of the lost wing, now preserved as an outdoor exhibit.
The recreated classroom is laid out with rows of old-fashioned desks facing a blackboard. Greeting visitors is the school's motto, Fortis Atque Fidelis. The walls are lined with displays tracing the school's more than two centuries of history, alongside a bust of Tunku Abdul Rahman, arguably the most distinguished Old Free of them all. There are also photographs of many other prominent Old Frees who have made their mark over the years.
It was here that I experienced a sense of satisfaction. Much of the historical information displayed in the room was adapted from my book, Let the Aisles Proclaim, which I wrote for the school's bicentenary in 2016. I had also supplied the museum with an updated summary of the school's history, leaving it entirely to the curators to decide how best to present the material. I can only hope I didn't overlook anything that some eagle-eyed visitor will one day point out.
Lest I give the wrong impression, the Free School exhibits occupy only a small corner of the museum. The rest explores Penang's history in all its facets through almost 1,200 artefacts, supported by multimedia and interactive presentations. Interesting though they are, I must admit I was rather biased. As an Old Free, I naturally spent more time in the galleries devoted to my alma mater.
That changed, however, when I wandered into one of the ground-floor galleries devoted to Penang's legislative and judicial history. Looking down from the wall were portraits of Hussein Abdoolcader, James Ambrose, Alfred Winslow and Wee Chong Jin. Hussein Abdoolcader was one of Penang's most distinguished lawyers and also served on the Straits Settlements Legislative Council. Ambrose, Winslow and Wee later moved to Singapore, where they rose through the judiciary to become Federal Court judges, with Wee Chong Jin eventually serving as Singapore's Chief Justice. Apart from the fact that they were from the legal profession, all four were also Old Frees. Goes to show that Penang Free School has had rather more than its fair share of producing lawyers and judges.
Before leaving, there was one final stop to the newly opened archaeological exhibit which I mentioned earlier. Here were the foundations of the bombed-out 1906 wing which had been excavated and preserved. Standing there and looking at what remained of the original structure brought the story full circle. Almost a century after Penang Free School left these premises, my alma mater had, in a sense, come home again.
I attended the reopening of the Penang State Museum last Thursday evening. It was a grand affair graced by the presence of the Penang Governor, Ramli Ngah Talib, Chief Minister Chow Kon Yeow, members of the State Exco and a host of invited guests. I was also happy to bump into quite a number of familiar faces among the crowd and even made a few new friends along the way.
After the speeches and a rather late dinner, which didn't begin until well after nine o'clock, we were finally invited into the museum. But I didn't get very far.
Just inside the entrance, my attention was drawn to a marble plaque mounted on one of the walls. I already knew what I wanted to see. It had been on my mind for years, and I was looking forward to reacquainting myself with it. My eyes quickly worked their way down the list of donors until they finally rested on a familiar name.
OH CHENG CHAN ESQR
There he was. This gentleman from the past, who contributed Straits Dollars One Hundred towards the building fund in either 1895 or 1896, was my great-great-grandfather on my mother's side of the family.
Seeing his name there again gave me happiness and a sense of pride. Suddenly, this wasn't just another heritage building with an interesting history. My own family had played a small part in making it possible. Quickly, I asked someone to take photos of me pointing to the name.
As far as I know, that makes me at least the fifth generation of my family in Penang. I say "at least" because I have never been able to trace Oh Cheng Chan's birthplace or date of birth. If he had come from China, then he would have been the first generation here. But if he had actually been born in Penang, then I would already be the sixth generation. Unfortunately, history has remained silent on that point.
His donation of Straits Dollars One Hundred may not sound like much today, but at the turn of the 20th century it was a substantial sum. In terms of purchasing power, it would probably be comparable to somewhere between RM15,000 and RM20,000 today. He was one of several public-spirited Penangites who contributed towards the construction of this magnificent building, leaving behind a legacy that has endured for well over a century.
The building itself has witnessed more than its fair share of history. Construction began in 1896, with the western wing completed first so that Penang Free School could move into its new premises in 1897. The eastern wing was completed in 1906 and occupied the following year. It was in this very building that Penang Free School celebrated its centenary in 1916.
Twelve years later, the upper forms moved to the school's present Green Lane campus, leaving behind the lower forms to become Hutchings School, a name chosen by The Old Frees' Association in honour of Robert Sparke Hutchings, the founder of Penang Free School.
The building suffered its first taste of war in December 1941 when Japanese bombs landed nearby. One exploded within the compound of the St George's Church, and the blast damaged the building's doors and windows. It fared much worse in February 1945 when Allied bombing scored a direct hit on the eastern wing, reducing much of it to rubble. Hutchings School returned to the surviving portion in 1947 and remained there until their new school buildings were completed in 1960.
After that, the old building stood empty for a while and even came close to being demolished. Thankfully, Tunku Abdul Rahman stepped in and decided that it should instead become the Penang State Museum. Whether he was motivated purely by its historical significance or by fond memories of his own schooldays here as a Penang Free School pupil, we can only speculate. Whatever the reason, Penang owes him a tremendous debt of gratitude for preserving one of the state's most important heritage buildings.
So there I was, looking at the plaque and finding myself thinking about my great-great-grandfather. More than 130 years ago, he and many others contributed to a public building that would go on to educate generations of Penangites before eventually becoming the State Museum. I doubt he could ever have imagined that one of his descendants would one day return, stand before that very plaque and quietly read his name once again. History isn't just something we read about in books. Sometimes, it stares back at us from a wall.
I had been dilly-dallying for years, but finally decided to go for my pneumonia jab yesterday. I first became aware of the pneumonia vaccine during the Covid-19 pandemic. At the time, I was encouraging my friends to get their annual influenza jabs. While the flu vaccine doesn't protect against Covid-19 itself, I felt that keeping the body's defences up against one infectious disease couldn't be a bad thing when dealing with another.
That's when one of my friends brought up the pneumonia vaccine, pointing out that it was just as important, especially for older people. He reminded me that pneumonia is one of the leading causes of hospitalisation among senior citizens and can be particularly dangerous for those with chronic conditions such as diabetes, heart disease and lung disease. Although the vaccine doesn't prevent every case of pneumonia, it greatly reduces the risk of severe illness and serious complications.
It certainly sounded like something worth having. Unfortunately, the price at the time was rather steep, so I shelved the idea. As often happens, one year became two, and before I knew it, several years had slipped by. Then about a week ago, something just clicked. I realised I had procrastinated long enough. We insure our homes, service our cars and go for regular medical check-ups, yet we sometimes hesitate over a vaccination that could help keep us out of hospital. The older we get, the less sense it makes to keep putting these things off.
So yesterday, Saw See and I, together with two other friends, kept appointments with a doctor friend who had kindly arranged for our vaccinations at cost price. I won't mention who he is or where we had the injections, just to respect everyone's privacy.
The vaccine we received was Prevnar 20, one of the newer pneumococcal vaccines that protects against 20 strains of the bacteria responsible for pneumonia and other serious infections. Unlike the influenza vaccine, which needs to be taken every year, this is generally a one-off vaccination for most older adults.
The whole thing was over in a matter of minutes. Just a tiny prick in the arm and a much lighter wallet, but also the comforting feeling that I'd finally crossed another important item off my health checklist. Come to think of it, the hardest part wasn't the injection at all. It was taking so many years to make up my mind.
This Thursday is a date I've been looking forward to for quite some time. After almost ten years behind hoardings and scaffolding, the Penang State Museum on Farquhar Street is finally reopening its doors. Like many Penangites, I'm curious to see how the old building has been restored. But unlike most visitors, the first thing I'll be looking for won't be the new galleries or exhibits.
I'll be making a beeline for the marble plaques mounted on the walls. Most people probably walk past them without a second glance. To me, they are among the most important artefacts in the whole building.
Many people don't realise that the building was never intended to be a museum. It was built for the Penang Free School after the school's original premises at Church Square had become hopelessly overcrowded. The first wing was completed in 1896, while the second followed in 1907.
Building a new school in those days was no small undertaking. To finance the project, the people of Penang rallied behind the cause. Individuals, families, businesses and community organisations donated generously because they believed in supporting education. To honour their generosity, marble plaques bearing the names of all the contributors were mounted on the walls of the new school building.
Many years later, while studying those names, I made an unexpected discovery. One of the donors was my own great-great-grandfather. Ever since then, whenever I visit the building, I make it a point to look for his name. It gives me a strange but satisfying feeling to know that someone from my family helped, however modestly, to build what would eventually become one of Penang's most historic buildings.
When Penang Free School moved to its Green Lane campus in 1927, the school ensured that the names of those benefactors would not be forgotten. A wooden honours board bearing the same list of donors was produced and mounted above the entrance to the Pinhorn Hall, where it still hangs today. Generations of Old Frees have probably walked beneath it without realising the story behind those names.
This Thursday, however, I'll have another reason for visiting. Some time ago, while restoration work was still in progress, the Penang State Museum contacted me with an unexpected request. The introduction came through the school's then headmaster, Syed Sultan Shaik Oothuman. Knowing of my work on the history of Penang Free School, he suggested that the museum approach me to write a concise history of the school for its new displays.
I was only too happy to help. Much of what I wrote was based on the extensive research and investigation that eventually culminated in Let the Aisles Proclaim in 2016. While researching that book, I discovered that a surprising number of accepted accounts of the school's early history were inaccurate. The same mistakes had been copied from one publication to another over the decades until they became accepted as historical fact.
Going back to original documents, newspapers and official records allowed me to verify dates, correct errors and, in some cases, completely rewrite parts of the school's early history. Besides writing the historical account, I also supplied some old photographs. They were only small contributions, but I was glad to assist. Whether the museum acknowledges my contribution is entirely up to them. That isn't why I did it.
For me, I'm happy enough knowing that I was able to contribute in a small way to preserve the history of a building that occupies such an important place in Penang's educational and cultural heritage.
This Thursday, I'll almost certainly pause in front of those marble plaques and again look for the name of my great-great-grandfather who helped build the school more than a century ago. Beyond those plaques are galleries that now also contain a little of my own work. History has a wonderful way of coming full circle.
Just going to the Dewan Sri Pinang last Monday brought back memories of my long association with this grand old hall. It was not the first time I had walked into the building to receive recognition, but it was also certainly not the first time I had been here for something else that was equally memorable.
At the investiture ceremony, my wife was seated high up in the terraced chairs, giving her an excellent vantage point of the proceedings below. At some point during the ceremony, she took a photograph of the hall from where she was sitting. When she showed it to me afterwards, I found myself looking beyond just the picture itself. The sweeping view of the hall, the spaciousness of the venue and the atmosphere it captured brought back a flood of memories.
Because my first visit to Dewan Sri Pinang was not for an award ceremony. It was December 1972, the last few days of my school life. Upper Six and the Higher School Certificate examinations had just ended, and like many school leavers, I was standing at the crossroads, wondering what lay ahead. There wasn't much time for soul-searching, though, because I had been selected to represent Penang in the inaugural Majlis Sukan Sekolah-sekolah Malaysia (MSSM) team chess championship. It was the first time chess had appeared as a competitive sport in the MSSM programme.
It is tempting to attribute the inclusion of chess to the famous World Championship match between Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer from July to September in 1972. In reality, the wheels had already been set in motion months earlier.
In April 1972, Dr Max Euwe, then President of the World Chess Federation (FIDE) and himself a former World Champion, visited Malaysia as part of a regional tour to promote chess. He stopped in Kuala Lumpur, and I was one of five players from Penang selected to take part in a simultaneous exhibition against him. If memory serves me right, he played about 24 schoolboys from around the country. We from Penang were myself, Khaw Teik Kooi and Khoo Chuan Keat from Penang Free School, and Beh Hong Pin and Lee Teik Leong from Chung Ling High School.
I actually caught him out in the opening when he played his moves in the wrong order. Unfortunately, my inexperience showed. Instead of exploiting the opportunity, I allowed him to recover, and before long he won the game. But I did earn something far more memorable. When Dr Euwe realised his mistake, he paused briefly, looked at the position and said, "You're sharp."
Just two simple words. Yet coming from a former World Champion, they meant the world to a teenage chess player. Following Dr Euwe's visit, the Ministry of Education approved chess as an MSSM sport, although initially only as a team event. The Majlis Sukan Sekolah-sekolah Pulau Pinang (MSSPP) was entrusted with organising the inaugural championship. The task fell to Fang Ewe Churh, then Headmaster of Han Chiang Primary School and President of the fledgling Penang Chess Association. Freshly returned from the Chess Olympiad in Skopje, Yugoslavia, where he had served as Malaysia's team captain and delegate, he was the obvious choice to organise the competition.
I honestly can't remember the selection process now, but by the end of the year I had been informed that I would represent Penang on first board. It proved to be a tough tournament. We defeated Johore and Kelantan to reach the semi-finals, where we overcame Negri Sembilan. In the final, however, Selangor proved too strong, and we had to settle for the runners-up spot.
The championship was held in the main hall of Dewan Sri Pinang. I still remember shivering throughout the tournament, not only because of the powerful air-conditioning, but also because of the tension of playing on first board for the state team. Over the years, I've returned to Dewan Sri Pinang many times for chess events. Games have been played in the main hall, the function rooms downstairs, and even in the foyer and first-floor corridors. But nothing can quite match the memories of that first tournament.
So now, whenever I step into Dewan Sri Pinang, it is not the investiture ceremonies or the medals that come to mind first. It is the memory of a nervous 18-year-old schoolboy, sitting at Board One in the inaugural MSSM Team Chess Championship, wondering whether he was good enough to do Penang proud.
I'm not one to chase state honours because I've never been a businessman or corporate leader, nor have I ever felt the need for the weight of a state or federal title behind my name. But if an award comes my way in recognition of my contributions to society, I certainly wouldn't turn it down. One thing is for sure, though: I would think twice before accepting any award that comes with a title. I still prefer to stay low-key and out of the limelight.
Last Monday, I attended an investiture ceremony at Dewan Sri Pinang to receive the Darjah Johan Negeri (DJN) from the Penang Governor, Ramli Ngah Talib, on the occasion of his official 85th birthday.
It wasn't my first state award. The last time I stepped into Dewan Sri Pinang for this purpose was in 2021, when I received the Pingat Kelakuan Terpuji (PKT) for 2020, the ceremony having been postponed because of the Covid-19 pandemic. And because of the pandemic, I never got to receive the award personally from the then Penang Governor, Haji Abdul Rahman bin Haji Abbas. But still, I had to dress up to the nines just to collect the medal. Before that, I have to turn the clock back to 1995, when I was awarded the Pingat Jasa Kebaktian (PJK).
Three medals under my belt. I think that's enough, lah. I'm happy, I'm contented, and I'm certainly not looking for any more.
There was another reason why receiving the award from Ramli made the occasion a little more special. Many people probably don't realise that he was the President of the Malaysian Chess Federation from 2007 to 2016. As I stepped forward to receive the medal, there was only time for a brief congratulatory handshake. I quickly told him, "This award is for Penang chess."
Whether those few words registered with him amid the hundreds of recipients that day, I really don't know.
Later that evening, however, there was an unexpected sequel. At the state dinner, as Ramli made his way along the red carpet greeting the guests, he shook my hand once again. This time, I simply reminded him with a single word: "Chess."
Before he could respond, his wife, Raja Noora Ashikin Raja Abdullah, who was walking just behind him, immediately looked at me and said, "He was in Norway." She was referring to the 2014 Chess Olympiad in Tromsø, held during Ramli's tenure as President of the Malaysian Chess Federation.
I found it fascinating that, completely off the cuff, she could instantly make the connection and recall that particular event. It was a fleeting exchange lasting only a few seconds, but it left a lasting impression on me.
As a postscript, I want to mention some other people who received titles and medals during these four days of the investiture.
Apart from me from the Wu Lien-Teh Society, there were also Clement Liang Chow Ming and Ong Siou Woon who received their PKT and PJK respectively. I thank the President, Anwar Fazal, for putting forth my application and the Secretary, Dr Hor Chee Peng, for the patience to prepare all the paperwork.
Then from The Old Frees' Association, other than me, Albert Moh See Eng was conferred the DGPN, Kannan Srinivasaraghavan received the PKT and Lim Wee Seong the PJK.
Finally from the Penang Chess Association, the recipient other than myself was Chong Kean Foong. There was also a Lee Ewe Ghee, but the one I know said that this wasn't him.
It is gratifying to see some of our state assemblypersons coming out on facebook to acknowledge and celebrate George Town's World Heritage Day on the seventh of July this year. Have I missed out on anyone's poster? I hope not! There were also public acknowledgements from several agencies and businesses but I shall not show the businesses here as they were too numerous.
I saw this posting on Ng Wei Aik's facebook account. He is a Penang-based politician who served as Tanjong MP (2013–2018) and Komtar state assemblyman (2008–2013), and was formerly a political secretary before being dropped as a GE14 candidate. On his facebook, he had asked a very interesting question: is the Penang Government doing anything to commemorate the 240th anniversary -- an anniversary which I would call by the Latin name bicentiquadragenary -- of the founding of Penang by Captain Francis Light? Here's what he wrote on the sixth of July:
Captain Francis Light landed in Penang on 11 August 1786. This coming 11 August marks the 240th anniversary of his landing, as well as the 240th anniversary of the founding of modern Penang.
Yet the authorities have remained completely silent. To date, no official celebrations have been planned, no commemorative ceremonies announced, as though this chapter of history never existed.
This inevitably raises an important question: when politicians constantly proclaim that they are defending Penang’s sovereignty, are they truly defending its history, or merely exploiting it for political purposes?
In recent times, whenever Penang’s status is discussed, politicians are quick to declare that they must “defend Penang’s sovereignty.” Yet when confronted with a significant historical milestone that embodies Penang’s identity and reinforces its historical consciousness, they have all fallen conspicuously silent.
To defend a place, one must first understand it.
Penang, as the state, international port, and modern city we know today, has an undeniable historical beginning.
Commemorating the 240th anniversary of Francis Light’s landing is not about glorifying colonial rule, nor is it about celebrating British imperialism. It is about acknowledging the historical fact of Penang’s founding.
A mature society does not erase history simply because it is complicated, nor does it rewrite or delete history in the name of political correctness.
True sovereignty is never built on slogans. It rests upon historical identity, cultural confidence, and institutional continuity.
A society that dares not commemorate its own founding anniversary, yet loudly proclaims its determination to defend its sovereignty every day, is displaying not conviction but emptiness; not confidence but insecurity.
If we can simply ignore the 240th anniversary of Penang’s founding, then when others question Penang’s historical status, on what basis can we expect the next generation to stand up and defend it?
Defending Penang’s sovereignty should never be reduced to a slogan repeated at press conferences, nor should it become another performance staged on social media.
Real defence begins with respecting history, confronting history honestly, and passing history on to future generations.
Otherwise, the rhetoric of “defending Penang’s sovereignty” will ultimately amount to nothing more than a political slogan—one that may sound thunderous, but cannot withstand the judgment of history.
Now, this is certainly an interesting topic. After all, 240 years is no small milestone. We readily celebrate centenaries, bicentenaries and other significant anniversaries. Penang itself has never been shy about commemorating important dates in its history. The state's bicentenary in 1986 was marked by numerous events, while George Town's inscription as a UNESCO World Heritage Site continues to be celebrated every year on the seventh of July.
Yet this 240th anniversary appears to have attracted little public attention. Of course, the issue is not as straightforward as it might seem. Any commemoration of Captain Francis Light inevitably raises the larger question of what exactly is being celebrated. Is it the arrival of a British trader? The beginning of British colonial rule? Or the birth of modern Penang as we know it today?
Historians have long pointed out that Penang did not suddenly come into existence on 11 August 1786. The island had been known for centuries to traders and seafarers and formed part of the Kedah Sultanate. But it is equally true that Francis Light's arrival altered the island's destiny forever. What had been a lightly populated island soon developed into one of the busiest free ports in Southeast Asia, attracting settlers from China, India, the Malay Archipelago, Europe and elsewhere. The foundations of modern Penang were laid during those formative years.
Whether one regards Francis Light as founder, coloniser or simply an important historical figure depends largely on one's perspective. History is seldom black and white. What cannot be denied, however, is that his arrival changed the course of Penang's history.
In recent years, we have periodically heard renewed claims from Kedah over Penang. Such statements invariably generate headlines and emotional reactions before quietly fading away until the next round of rhetoric. Yet they serve as a reminder that history often becomes a subject of attention when it suits the moment. Understanding how Penang came to be what it is today is therefore not merely an academic exercise; it is part of understanding the state's identity, its historical development and its constitutional place within Malaysia.
Commemorating the landing of Francis Light need not be interpreted as glorifying colonialism. Nor should it be seen simply as a rebuttal of Kedah's periodic claims over Penang. Rather, it can be viewed as acknowledging a turning point in history: the moment that eventually gave rise to the cosmopolitan Penang we know today. Mature societies are capable of recognising significant historical events without necessarily endorsing every aspect of the individuals involved or the circumstances surrounding them.
There is another interesting perspective. This year's 240th anniversary comes at the same time as the United States celebrating the 250th anniversary, or semiquincentenary, of its own founding on the fourth of July, just a few days ago. The Americans marked that milestone with nationwide events, exhibitions and educational programmes, not because every chapter of their early history was beyond criticism, but because understanding one's origins is part of understanding one's nation.
Perhaps Penang, too, could consider whether such milestones deserve greater recognition. Not necessarily through elaborate celebrations, but through meaningful public commemorations that encourage people to reflect on the island's long and fascinating journey over the past 240 years. It has been a journey shaped by indigenous roots, colonial encounters, migration, trade and the many communities that have made Penang what it is today.
Two days ago, my story on the Malaysian Chess Festival appeared on the ChessBase India website. It was only the second time I had written for this highly respected chess news portal. Interestingly, the first was almost exactly a year ago, when I had the pleasure of writing about Yeoh Li Tian's historic achievement in becoming Malaysia's first chess grandmaster.
This time, I decided to write about the Malaysian Chess Festival, which will be celebrating its 21st edition this year. Something of a coming of age for an event that first began in 2004. Since then, it has been held unfailingly every year except during the Covid-19 pandemic, when the 2020 and 2021 editions had to be cancelled.
I did notice that ChessBase India had edited my article somewhat, which is, of course, perfectly understandable. Editors have their own constraints and house style. Their version can be read here, and I hope it reaches far and wide, encouraging more players to enter this year's Dato' Arthur Tan Malaysia Open Chess Championship.
But for those interested, I'd also like to reproduce below my original version.
The Malaysian Chess Festival at Twenty-One
By Quah Seng Sun (former chess columnist of The Star, 1980-2012)
Come every August and September, the regional chess spotlight falls on Malaysia. That is when players from around the country and overseas converge on Kuala Lumpur for what has become one of the region's best-loved annual gatherings, the Malaysian Chess Festival.
This year marks the 21st Malaysian Chess Festival, which will be held from 28th August to 6th September 2026 at KL Gateway Mall in Kuala Lumpur. Over ten days, the venue will once again be transformed into a bustle of activity as players of all ages and abilities battle over the chessboard, renewing friendships while creating new memories.
It is remarkable how much the festival has grown.When it was first launched in 2004, it was a much smaller affair comprising just three tournaments: the Merdeka Team Chess Championship, the Malaysian Open Chess Championship and the Malaysian Chess Challenge. The latter was created with a simple but thoughtful idea in mind. Not everyone felt ready to test themselves against grandmasters and international masters in the Open. Players with more modest FIDE ratings were therefore given the option of competing in the Chess Challenge, where the opposition would be more evenly matched while still providing a serious tournament experience.
Those were also difficult days for the festival's founder, the late Dato' Tan Chin Nam. He was still coming to terms with the tragic loss of his youngest son, Arthur Tan Boon Shih.Rather than allowing grief to overwhelm him, Dato' Tan channelled it into something positive through a game that had long been close to his heart. Arthur himself had developed a genuine love of chess from a young age. On two or three occasions in the mid to late 1970s, I happened to bump into him quietly playing chess in Kuala Lumpur. He was never one to seek attention, but it was obvious he genuinely loved the game.
From those early planning sessions emerged the concept of the Malaysian Chess Festival.One of Dato' Tan's first decisions was to incorporate the already well-established Merdeka Team Chess Championship into the new festival. This tournament had begun in 1981 and was then entering its 25th edition. It was an inspired move. Players could begin the festival with two days of fast-paced team chess before settling into the longer and more demanding classical time controls of the Malaysian Open or the Malaysian Chess Challenge.It proved to be a winning formula.
Since then, there has been no looking back. The programme has steadily expanded to cater for virtually every section of the chess community. Various junior age-group championships, both individual and team, were introduced to encourage young players. Senior events were added. Blitz championships became traditional curtain-raisers and finales. Over the years, the Malaysian Chess Festival has grown into a celebration of chess in almost every form.
This year's programme is among the most comprehensive yet:
SMS Deen Merdeka Open Rapid Team Chess Championship (28th-29th August) — the 44th edition of Malaysia's longest-running team chess event;
Dato' Tan Chin Nam Merdeka Under-12 Team Championship (28th-29th August);
Merdeka Blitz Championship (29th August);
Dato' Tan Chin Nam Age-Group Championship for Under-6, Under-8, Under-10, Under-12, Under-14 and Under-16 players (30th August);
21st Dato' Arthur Tan Merdeka Open Chess Championship (31st August-6th September);
Daniel Yong Chen-I Memorial Merdeka Chess Challenge (31st August-6th September);
Dato' Tan Chin Nam Seniors Open Championship (31st August-6th September);
Dato' Tan Chin Nam Merdeka Day Age-Group Championship (4th September); and
Festival Blitz Championship (6th September).
While every event has its own attraction, the undisputed centrepiece remains the Dato' Arthur Tan Merdeka Open Chess Championship (previously known as the Dato’ Arthur Tan Malaysian Open Chess Championship).Over the past two decades, it has established a reputation as one of Asia's finest proving grounds for emerging talent. Long before many players became household names in international chess, they were already testing themselves across the boards in Kuala Lumpur.
The list is extraordinary.Future world-class stars such as Wang Hao (China), Le Quang Liem (Vietnam), Wesley So (the Philippines, later the United States), Alireza Firouzja (originally from Iran but now representing France), Dommaraju Gukesh (India) and Nodirbek Abdusattorov (Uzbekistan) all played in the Malaysian Open while they were still teenagers or pre-teens. A very young Gukesh played in three editions of the Malaysian Open from 2015 to 2017. Today, they are recognised among the world's elite, several having risen into the FIDE Top 20 and even the Top 10. Gukesh went on to become World Champion, while So and Firouzja both reached World No. 2 and Abdusattorov World No. 4.
Many others have similarly passed through Kuala Lumpur on their journey to international prominence, including Yu Yangyi (China), Li Chao (China), Ni Hua (China), Parimarjan Negi (India) and Lu Shanglei (China).
The women's list is equally distinguished. Current Women's World Champion Ju Wenjun (China) and former women’s champions Xu Yuhua (China) and Tan Zhongyi (China) have competed here, as has former World No. 2 Koneru Humpy (India) and current World No. 2 Lei Tingjie (China). Other recognised names include Dinara Saduakassova (Kazakhstan) and Mary Ann Gomes (India) who have appeared in the FIDE Women's Top 100.
Perhaps that is the Malaysian Chess Festival's greatest achievement. It has never tried to be merely another tournament. Instead, it has become a meeting place where schoolchildren play alongside senior citizens, ambitious juniors test themselves against seasoned professionals, and tomorrow's stars often appear long before the rest of the world notices them.
Although Dato' Tan Chin Nam passed away in 2018, his vision lives on. Every year his name continues to be associated with several events within the festival, a fitting tribute to Malaysian chess's greatest benefactor. The festival itself also honours the memories of Arthur Tan Boon Shih and Daniel Yong Chen-I, ensuring that their contributions to Malaysian chess are never forgotten.
For anyone who enjoys competitive chess, whether as a serious title aspirant or simply as someone looking for a well-organised tournament in a friendly atmosphere, the Malaysian Chess Festival remains one of the highlights of the regional chess calendar.
If the past twenty years are any indication, this year's festival promises another memorable chapter in one of the enduring success stories of Malaysian chess.
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