Yin and yang of Chinese temples

Over the Chinese New Year period, I had the occasion to visit several temples, the most important being the Kong Hock Keong, or Kuan Imm Temple, in Pitt Street. It’s always packed during the first few days of the festive season. This year, my family tried visiting on the first of this month, already the fourth day of Chinese New Year, but we were thwarted by road closures in the inner heritage zone, no thanks to the annual CNY beohooi (miaohui, 廟會) celebrations. Traffic was being diverted everywhere except into Pitt Street, also known as the Street of Harmony. But no worries—we made it there eventually. albeit a few days later. On Chap Goh Meh, after my worship session at the Swee Cheok Tong, I did what I always do: walked to Armenian Street to offer prayers at the Poh Hock Seah, the most prominent Tua Pek Kong Temple in the city.

A few days ago, after visiting these and other temples—both on the island and the mainland, including my neighbourhood Tua Pek Kong temple just around the corner—I started wondering: in Chinese geomancy, or hongsui (fengshui, 風水), are temples considered yin or yang places? I guess it depends on the temple’s design and the deities worshipped.

Generally, temples are yang. They’re lively places where people gather to pray, make offerings and perform rituals—all activities that generate strong yang energy. Many temples have open courtyards, bright colours like red and gold, and strong lighting, which only amplify that yang presence. There’s also a deep connection to the Heavens—Taoist and Buddhist temples, in particular, are often built to align with celestial forces, which are naturally yang.

But there’s a darker side too. Yin energy tends to linger in more secluded areas, especially memorial halls dedicated to the dead. Some temples have dark corners or even underground spaces, dimly lit and decorated accordingly, where ghoulish deities of the netherworld—like Tua Yah Pek and Jee Yah Pek—are worshipped. These spaces, being enclosed and shadowy, naturally accumulate yin energy. Then there are temples hidden deep in forests, perched on mountains or sitting right next to cemeteries, with hardly any human activity—places that definitely lean more towards yin.

That said, I’d say most Chinese temples in Penang are predominantly yang, though they aim to strike a balance between yin and yang for spiritual harmony.

As an addendum to the above story, I must emphasise that the Tua Pek Kong (大伯公) and Tua Yah Pek (大爺伯) are completely different deities with distinct roles in Chinese folk religion.

Tua Pek Kong is a widely revered Earth Deity, often considered a guardian of communities, businesses and the general well-being of people. He is associated with prosperity, protection and landownership. Many temples and shrines are dedicated to him, such as the Poh Hock Seah in Armenian Street.

On the other hand, Tua Yah Pek is one of the Underworld Guardians, alongside Jee Yah Pek (二爺伯). He works under the King of Hell (Phor Tor Ong or Tai Su Yah, 大士爺) and is responsible for guiding and escorting spirits of the deceased to the afterlife. His counterpart, Jee Yah Pek is often depicted in white robes, while Tua Yah Pek is in black. Both grotesque figures, if I'm not mistaken, spot long tongues that reach down to the waist or knees.

Essentially, Tua Pek Kong is a benevolent deity associated with prosperity and protection, while Tua Yah Pek is a fearsome underworld enforcer responsible for the dead.

Ending my chap goh meh

Shhh… don’t tell the Penang state government, but Chap Goh Meh was over two days ago. It’s already chap chhit meh (the seventeenth night), yet they’re still going ahead with their orange-throwing event at the Esplanade this evening! Well, to each their own, I suppose.

As for me, Chinese New Year ended two nights ago with a dinner hosted by the Nandaka Vihara meditation society to appreciate its committee members, volunteers, helpers, and workers. As with all meals at Nandaka Vihara, it was a buffet—tables laden with food, and people moving along, picking out what they wanted. But the highlight of the evening was the unique way yee sang was served. With just one large plate to share among 50-odd people, the usual tossing wouldn’t have been practical. So, someone had the bright idea of tying a long piece of string to the plate and pulling it along four or five tables, allowing everyone to toss the yee sang as it passed by. It worked brilliantly, and everyone had their moment of fun, flinging the ingredients as high as possible.

Meanwhile, the monks at Nandaka Vihara kept a respectful distance from the celebrations. However, the Chief Monk, Dhammasubho, was invited at the start of the gathering to share merits with those present.

Earlier in the day, I had visited the Swee Cheok Tong for our annual Chap Goh Meh worship, a tradition our Quah Kongsi observes every year. The session is always well attended by most of the Trustees and Committee Members. For the past decade or so, I’ve also made it a personal ritual to stop by the Poh Hock Seah, or Tua Pek Kong temple, in Armenian Street after the Kongsi worship. As usual, the area was packed with tourists, but I kept to my routine—slipping quietly into the temple, offering my prayers and leaving without fuss.

So now with Chap Goh Meh ended, the next Chinese festival to look forward to will be Cheng Beng which shall fall on the fourth day of April.

,p.

Northern drums

For me, this year’s Chinese New Year is well and truly over. Another 15 days have flown by, preceded by nearly a month of intense house-cleaning, all thanks to my wife’s initiative. Back-breaking work for me, especially since I’m not getting any younger. I was about to take down the Chinese New Year banners from the main door, but she suggested leaving them up for a couple more days. No rush, she said. Fair enough—after all, the Penang state government isn’t wrapping up their Chinese New Year celebrations until this Friday.

At the Esplanade, the festivities will culminate with the Chap Goh Meh orange-throwing event… except it won’t be Chap Goh Meh this year but Chap Chhit Meh. A new trend in the making? A rewrite of Chinese tradition? All because Thaipusam fell on the eve of Chap Goh Meh, and concerns over traffic congestion took priority. Blah, blah, blah. I just hope everything returns to normal next year, and more importantly, that this Chap Chhit Meh business doesn’t set a precedent. Indeed, no!

One of the highlights of this year’s Chinese New Year was the festive dinner organised by the Ministry of Human Resources in collaboration with the Social Security Organisation (SOCSO) in Bukit Mertajam on the seventh of February. Hosted by local boy and Human Resources Minister Steven Sim, the event was attended by Penang Chief Minister Chow Kon Yeow. In my books, it was a well-organised affair. While the main dishes were served in the traditional nasi hidang style, several food stalls at the back of the hall dished out halal versions of char koay teow, udang cucuk, dragon beard candy, and more. The main guests arrived to the explosive din of firecrackers, setting the stage for a thrilling performance by the Northern Drum troupe, whose powerful beats added to the festive atmosphere. The video of their performance appears at the end of this story. Meanwhile, view the pictures I took of the event first.

Now, really 100 percent!

I was at Nandaka Vihara tonight, celebrating chap goh meh over dinner with the committee members and other volunteers. As we left, instinctively, I turned my head to search for the full moon. And there it was—a 100 percent illuminated at 9:17pm, shining brightly and clearly. A few others joined me, pausing to marvel at its brilliance, gasping in sheer wonder.

Moon reaching 100%

The full moon at 9:17pm tonight—illuminated at 99.1%. Technically in exactly 24 hours, it’ll attain 100%, the true Chap Goh Meh moon in all its splendour. But for now, the view will have to wait—I’ve no idea what the weather will be like tonight.

Annual CNY lunch

Just wrapped up our annual Chinese New Year lunch at home with most of my in-laws. As always, we only made the too-tor soup—which took the whole morning to prepare—and catered the rest. This year, we picked two dishes from Zui Xiang Lou in Machang Bubok and another two from Kerala Spice Kitchen in downtown Bukit Mertajam.

 

Locked in, locked out

Little mundane mishaps can happen to anyone. When they do, they’re frustrating in the moment—but if they end well, they make for a good laugh. Take my experience just two days ago.

I got a taste of what it’s like to be locked in. The night before, my wife drove home and left the door key inside the car since the front door was already open for pai tnee kong worship. The next morning, when she left for an event at the temple, she accidentally took the spare front door key as well. When it was my turn to leave, I couldn’t find the key anywhere. That’s when it hit me—I was stuck, locked in! Too late for her to turn back, and I had no way out. In desperation, I searched the house high and low until, finally, I found another set of spare keys. Now, I really need to make sure they’re easier to find next time.

As for being locked out, well, that didn’t happen to me—but to my neighbour yesterday. His family had left for Kuala Lumpur, leaving his brother-in-law behind to house-sit for the weekend. Barely half an hour later, they realised they’d forgotten something and swung back home. Meanwhile, the brother-in-law had wandered into the side garden to do some tidying up. Without realising he wasn’t inside, they locked the front door and took off again. So that fella was well and truly locked out. But lucky for him, he spotted my wife and got her to call the family. So, back they came—again—to let him in.

Funny how these little accidents can turn into amusing stories. At least, after the fact!

Pai tnee kong 2025

The ninth day of the first Chinese lunar month is a big deal for the Hokkien community in Penang. Some even say it’s more important than the first day of Chinese New Year. A day of gratitude and reverence to mark the moment their ancestors escaped a massacre. Legend has it that they survived thanks to the Jade Emperor, the God of Heaven. To this day, Hokkiens honour the occasion with grand celebrations and worship. 

One story traces back to the Ming Dynasty. It was the 16th century and coastal trade was booming. But along with prosperity came the pirates who raided villages along China’s eastern coast. On the first day of a Chinese New Year, a ruthless band of marauders attacked a Hokkien settlement in Fujian, killing indiscriminately. The villagers fled into a nearby sugarcane plantation and prayed to the Jade Emperor for protection. For days, they remained out of sight, the tall stalks shielding them from view. On the ninth day, the pirates gave up and left. Emerging from the plantation, the Hokkiens rejoiced and offered thanksgiving prayers. Subsequently, the practice of Pai Tnee Kong (praying to the Jade Emperor) took on the deeper significance of survival and divine protection.

Preparations usually begin in the morning of the eighth day of Chinese New Year. Families flood the markets before dawn to pick up essentials. Among the most important—long stalks of sugarcane that symbolises resilience, protection and sweet fortune. A whole roast pig, a symbol of abundance, often takes centre stage for those who can afford one while the offering table overflows with traditional sweetmeats like the ang koo (red tortoise cakes), bee koh (glutinous rice pudding), huat kueh (steamed cupcakes that "bloom" for good luck), mee koo (bright pink steamed buns), tnee kueh (sweet sticky rice cake), miniature sugared pink pagodas, fresh fruits and flowers. Each item carefully chosen, each one carrying its own symbolic meaning.

By 11pm, when the Chinese lunisolar calendar marks the start of a new day, families begin their prayers. The offering table, often raised on stools or benches to be closer to heaven, is meticulously arranged. The sugarcane stalks are tied to the table's front legs. A pineapple, or ong lai (meaning prosperity comes), sits prominently on the table, often decorated with red paper cuttings for extra luck. Some families buy kim chua pineapples, carefully folded from gold-stamped paper into intricate shapes.

One of the night’s most striking rituals is the burning of gold-stamped paper, or kim chua, folded into the shape of ancient ingots. As the fire consumes the offerings, sugarcane stalks from the altar are added to the flames, a final act of thanksgiving. The celebrations culminate in a thunderous barrage of fireworks and firecrackers, their deafening explosions believed to drive away evil spirits and welcome good fortune.

That’s how my family used to celebrate Pai Tnee Kong when we were still living in Seang Tek Road. My grandmother made sure everything was in place, with my mother, aunt and even her siblings chipping in. By 10 or 10.30pm, the whole family would gather. The main table from our front hall carried out onto the five-foot way, decorated with sugarcane stalks tied to its legs. No whole roast pig for us, though—just a generous cut of roast pork, along with boiled chicken and roast duck. That’s how I remember it.

Then, sometime in the 1960s, the tradition came to an abrupt stop. My grandmother’s brother-in-law advised against continuing after a terrible accident downtown. A crash, a fire, ashes covering some families’ offerings—it was a bad omen, he said, and it had happened on the night of Pai Tnee Kong. From then on, our celebrations were much quieter. No more raised tables on benches, no elaborate altars. Just a few offerings—fruits, huat kueh—placed on the small, permanent Jade Emperor’s altar. But one thing never changed: we still burned kim chua to conclude our prayers.

So, according to the Chinese lunisolar calendar, Spring is finally here!

CNY party @ OFA

Last Sunday, I found myself with a last-minute ticket to the Chinese New Year party at The Old Frees' Association. Initially, I had been told that I was too late to register and was placed on the waiting list. Then, just a day or two before CNY, I got a message—a seat had opened up. Would I still be interested?

At first, I thought no, as my family had planned to visit relatives and friends that day. But as luck would have it, my wife rescheduled our visits to the day before to accommodate an old family friend. So, in the end, I was free to attend the CNY@OFA party after all.

The celebrations kicked off around 5pm with a string of firecrackers, followed by a lively lion dance performance that lasted about half an hour. The troupe moved from the main entrance to the natuk kong shrine at the far end of the car park before making its way into the main building—ascending the staircase to the lounge, then down into the hall, and finally culminating in a vibrant display of Chinese New Year exuberance at the reception area. Along the way, they captivated members and their families, especially the youngsters.

After the excitement, there was a short breather before the buffet spread was opened. Everyone enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and by 7.30pm, I decided to call it a day.

These photos below were taken from The Old Frees' Association's facebook page, Liong Chian Min as well as my own mobile.

Two CNY rituals

Every year, I have two little traditions around Chinese New Year. Some might see them as religious, but for me, they’re just cultural habits I’ve kept over the years.

The first is giving the Goddess of Mercy (Kuan Im) statue in my house her good annual bath. Since she’s made of marble, I can place her in a special tub (which I bought just for this) and scoop scented water over her repeatedly. Out of convenience, I always do this three days before Chinese New Year, right after my family completes our year-end prayers to the ancestors in the morning. The afternoon then becomes busy for me—I clean the altar, tidy up the joss urn, wipe down the altar table and finally, bathe the Kuan Im statue before putting up the Chinese New Year banners over the doorway. And with that, the first ritual is done.

The second is welcoming the Coming of Spring by filling the rice bucket on the Jip Chun (or Li Chun, 立春) day. This date usually falls on the third or fourth of February, depending on the calendar. But because 2024 was a leap year, Jip Chun arrived earlier—on 3rd February at 10.12pm. Along with filling the bucket, I also paste the character Chun (春) on it. So according to the Chinese lunisolar calendar, Spring is finally here!

Fisheye

The main advantage of owning a DSLR—or even a micro four-thirds camera—is the ability to use interchangeable lenses to suit different occasions. The main disadvantage, however, is not having enough of them! Heck, I don’t even own a prime lens. I mainly rely on the two zoom kit lenses that came with the camera, and I do struggle with them at times. I’d love to have more, but at my age, it’s madness to spend on nice-to-haves rather than must-haves. That said, I do own an 8mm fisheye lens—more of a novelty than a serious tool.

I mention this because last night, in sheer frustration, I found myself struggling with my 14-40mm zoom kit lens. It simply refused to focus when aimed at the dark sky—lacking contrast, it couldn’t lock onto anything. I wanted to capture the moon, Venus, and Jupiter, which spanned a wide section of the sky, requiring multiple shots to stitch together. Out of desperation, I swapped in the fisheye lens and hoped for the best. And what do you know? It worked! Despite the gross distortion, I managed to capture the sky from west to overhead, and there they were—Venus, the moon, and Jupiter, perfectly aligned!

Rubbing shoulders

Received an invitation to attend the 88 Captains’ annual dinner at the E&O Hotel last Friday. Dressed in my latest Chinese New Year outfit, I drove my wife to the hotel, while my son joined us later on his own. 

The evening passed pleasantly enough, though the spotlight remained firmly on the big shots—the captains of industry in Penang. Among the guests were the Penang Governor, Chief Minister and several State Executive Councillors.

A highlight of the night was reconnecting with Dr Chong of the University of Wollongong Penang, who happened to be seated at the same table. I had last met her about 20 years ago when the university was still known as Kolej Damansara Utama. 

The organisers had engaged an official photographer, yet he overlooked a simple but meaningful gesture—capturing all the guests. With only 20 tables, a round of photos would have been effortless. A missed opportunity, no doubt.

With our host, Dr Ooi Eng Hock

With the Chief Minister and Governor

Venus and the moon

This picture was taken with my mobile phone. I hadn’t planned on looking up at the sky from my son’s place in Tanjong Bungah yesterday at about 8.45pm, but when I inadvertently did, I was pleasantly surprised. 

The crescent moon seemed to be chasing the brilliant Venus across the western sky. It wasn’t my best shot, but it captured the moment well enough. 

Directly overhead, Jupiter stood steadfast, while a reddish Mars shone quietly down on me.

 

Red packets (紅包)

I daresay that for at least the past two decades, Chinese New Year red packets (紅包) have undergone remarkable transformations, as though businesses are engaged in an unspoken competition to produce the most eye-catching designs—turning them into near-collectors’ items. Gone are the days when ang pow packets were plain, predictable and uninspired. There were once boundaries that businesses dared not or could not cross, for fear of being seen as even mildly avant-garde or straying too far from cultural traditions. Yet, with the turn of the millennium, designers have gradually refined the red packet into an art form, making them larger and sturdier to accommodate banknotes without the need for folding. This subtle yet practical evolution reflects both aesthetic innovation and a response to modern gifting preferences.