Phases Online: What's with SMALL?

Away from Bukit Mertajam

2006-04-30T09:17:00.000-07:00

By Chong Joan-Lynn

Keeping track of what's going on back in Bukit Mertajam through either my sister's blog or five-minute phone calls with her are equally useless. She never really blog about what's going on in her life, which is a good thing. I can relate to that, because I don't usually. Well, I do, with much ambiguity. I don't go on about how "Oh I went to Secret Recipe today!" or other things that are lacking a certain amount of depth. Unless of course, it is just sheer idiocy, then I put that up, but mainly for entertainment value … my own, usually.

I am digressing a little too much. Getting back to my point. I have been reading my sister's blog quite religiously every time I get the chance to, in Evo – this extremely costly cyber cafe in Tanah Rata, Cameron Highlands – which charges as high as RM3.50 per hour. It is at these times that I miss my home's Streamyx connection and NetZero the most. Back in Bukit Mertajam, NetZero charges only RM1.50 per hour and only RM1 if you are a member there.

But looking at my sister's blog entries, especially the one about our friends throwing her a surprise birthday party, and all the good Bukit Mertajam food they had, brings back that emo-wave once again.

Talking to my brother on MSN and having him tell me that the family just came back from dinner at our usual spot – Medan Selera Taman Sentosa — made me feel just a little jealous of them, if not tremendously jealous.

Everyone had nice, yummy, cheap hawker food! I want nice, yummy, cheap hawker food!

Although Bukit Mertajam is really just the mainland side of Penang, and it isn't as big, or famous, or city-like, or touristy as Penang Island, it still provides the good food Penang is famous for ... just much cheaper!

Everyone ate in Medan Selera Taman Sentosa!

I have always wanted to eat at the "Penang Laksa" or "Penang Famous Char Kuey Teow" stalls here, but one part of me keeps telling me how it probably wouldn't taste half as good as the “real” one back in Bukit Mertajam. Living in Tanah Rata, Subang Jaya, Puchong and Petaling Jaya over the past five weeks has really caused me to miss Bukit Mertajam a lot. The food here doesn't taste as nice as the ones back home. And the price is sometimes more than double!

Just reading through my sister's overly exaggerated exploits during the party made me feel, well, really left out. Even the extremely fast-paced lifestyle here doesn't suit me. I jumped up in shock when walking across the pedestrian crossing the other day. Only then did I find out that over here, unless there aren't any cars driving through, you are not allowed to walk across the pedestrian crossing. In Bukit Mertajam, at every pedestrian crossing, cars are supposed to slow down and stop if there are people walking through.

A few nights back, I was about to go to bed. I couldn't help but stare out of the window. The sky was light grey. And it was probably the brightest colour of night sky I have ever seen. It was almost … glaring. The light pollution was so horrible it didn't seem like any normal night sky — not to mention how there wasn't even a single star. It was then I missed Bukit Mertajam again. The pitch black sky, with the twinkling of stars scattered all over the sky.

For now, what I really want is to go home. I really miss everything back in Bukit Mertajam. The food, the laid back and relaxed lifestyle, the lower cost of living, and of course, family.

Sigh. I want to go home.

Bentong: The dynamics of small towns

2006-04-16T06:31:00.000-07:00

By Hwa Yue-Yi*

Saturday, December 31, 2005

I was thinking about small towns, about what makes their dynamics so different from their larger counterparts.

(Oh, Bentong – where my family is moving to – is smaller than I thought it would be. Bentong town has three main streets; my sister and I covered its two supermarkets and most of the shops in a couple of hours. Not too exciting, but I did get a nice pair of ballet pumps for RM16. On the other hand, Daytona is a dollar per round, which is the same as Ipoh prices.)

Working in generalisations, I gathered that people in small towns are content with just making it through each day. You know the way people in agricultural communities spend all their time growing their food, making clothes, gathering materials for residences, maybe sitting back and having a sing-along around the table when they had extra time, or adding an extra barn when a harvest was good? Though jobs might be different and money as an intermediate changes the system a bit, the worldview in towns like Bentong is similar.

When people start to make money, they get bigger houses, subscribe to Astro (read: cable TV), buy nicer cars, treat their friends to restaurant dinners a bit more often, and are satisfied. Shophouses are starting to sell expensive items, but proprietors are comfortably unconcerned about decor and flashy advertising and class and looking exclusive. There's little preoccupation with living the good life, and less desire to outdo the Joneses since the Joneses themselves are quite happy with what they have. Because of all this, they have a contentment and simplicity – and unhurriedness – that city-dwellers lack.

I was surprised to realise that I'm an urbanite. When I was younger I wanted to spend all my life hibernating in an idyllic country house. Now I have the tendency to criticise and the arrogance and the kancheong-ness that are native to busy streets and dense residential areas. (Remember that I'm using broad strokes here.)

And while I admire the simplicity of small town life, I'm aware that it's something I'll have to admire from a distance: the plateau of material pursuits is often stifling intellectually and aesthetically as well, and I don't think I'd be able to do without those two. Not that I'm a philosopher or a scholar (apart from the holding-a-scholarship sense) or an artist, but I've come to appreciate the infinite intricacies that God has put into these areas. I guess I have to try to preserve a simplicity of intents and thoughts while exploring the beauty of His world.

(*Guest columnist in absence of our regular columnist Chong Joan-Lynn. Taken from her blog with permission at http://flowermoonfish.blogspot.com)

Kluang: SAY "CHEESE!"

2006-04-09T08:31:00.000-07:00

By Woon Tien Li

“Good thing Kluang is still a small town. Big towns don’t have trees.”

That was what the aunties at the neighbourhood kedai runcit always said whenever the weather in this small town turned brutally hot. I used to wonder why they said that. But no matter its validity (ahoy, city-dwellers!), here are some snapshots of Kluang.

* * *

I walk out of the school gate. The air is eerily still, stiff with humidity. It seems like it will rain later. Dust clings on to the hem of my green kain, comfortable in the lack of air circulation. Probably the soles of my "Made in China" shoes — as proclaimed on the insoles — have their own way of awakening them.

Dad’s Proton Iswara is parked under the tree. Thank God for trees and kind people who plant and nurture them. The green car is somewhat camouflaged by the leafy boughs — yes, green skirt, green car and green windscreen shade. I dump my books and bag on the passenger seat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I sigh. After driving for one year, the novelty has disappeared, replaced by the inevitable wish of having a chauffeur, or just someone to drive me around.

* * *

The sound of rustling grass, scampering brown leaves and the soft, almost unheard thuds of dry petals accompany my short walk. Withered blossoms — yellow, pink and white — flutter down, covering the ground in a cheery, springy layer of colour. The sky grows darker. Little droplets of water dot my glasses. I smile, as little kids whiz pass me on their bicycles.

Cycling down a slope is the nicest way to absorb the scent of post-rain dampness. Kor and I never raced on those days. The ground crunched as wet sand grated against our bicycle tyres. We often cycled in the drizzle. The wind left us pleasantly cold and warm at the same time; Kor’s glasses would get fogged up. So we cycled leisurely, breathing in the freshness that can only come after a shower.

* * *

I remember one morning when I was in Form 3. It was a Monday, and there was assembly at school. Sister Mary, my principal, stood up to speak.

“Listen, girls,” she said.

We grew silent slowly. The hush was soon replaced by a cacophony of chirping birds and insect sounds, as distinct as the damp smell of the ground outside.

“Toot, toot …” The north-bound train passed by. We heard the steam released with a “Whoosh!” sound.

From where I sat, I could see the sun peeking out from behind Gunung Lambak, its looming twin peaks watching over the awakening town.

The dew-beads on the flowers glistened almost proudly. Their petals unfurled to receive the sun’s warmth, their colours more brilliant in the light.

After a while, she broke the stillness. “See, it’s such a beautiful morning.”

And indeed it was. And I saw not only the Master Artist at work, but also how lovely this little known place is.

A Hitchhiker’s Journal: Alor Star

2006-04-02T07:12:00.000-07:00

By Lee Soo Tian

December 4, 2005

7.45 a.m.

Just arrived at the Alor Star train station. The place looks like a dump. The clock tower isn’t working, the walls look like they haven’t been painted for at least a century, and the eating shop (that’s the only word for it) probably hasn’t been open for at least 20 years. Where am I going to find breakfast? That, at the moment, is priority number one.

8.17 a.m.

Walked across the train tracks and passed a school. It looks like a school, but the sign says “Kolej Sultan Abdul Hamid.” Hmm, strange, no? Perhaps it’s like MCKK, some ancient institution set up by the British, I presume. Right now penning this over a cup of teh tarik (I can’t believe it costs only 60 sen!) and an egg thosai (just RM1!) at a stall outside the school. Next to me, a group of old men are discussing the news of the world. What would Malaysia be without ah peks and old pak ciks and tatas? Mmm, time for some sight-seeing.

2.30 p.m.

Am lying on my bed in the Grand Jubilee Hotel, a seedy joint if there ever was one. But I’m travelling on a tight budget, so I can’t be choosy. This place is at the outskirts of the Jalan Putra area. Visited Rumah Merdeka this morning. Had no idea what itwas as I just saw some banners on the street lamp posts declaring that it was open for tourists and visitors. Turns out it’s the house of Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra himself. Took a brief trip back in time to the 1960s. I like his little study room. The books he read are quite interesting. One that caught my eye was “A Kept Man.” Heh.

Lunch was at this soup kitchen set up by the Trinity Baptist Church. Simple meal of curry chicken, rice and black bean soup. Talked with Pastor Penny, who oversees the place. Dropped RM2 into the donation box and went on my way. Whoops, just yawned for the second time in a minute. Going to take a snooze now. More sightseeing later.

8.07 p.m.

Just had dinner. There’s this street called “ji tiau lor” near the Sentosa Hotel (one of the places I can’t afford!) that has a lot of hawker stalls. Had prawn mee (mysteriously the stall was labelled “hokkien mee”) and sugarcane juice. Hiked my way to Mahathir’s birthplace earlier. Quite a lot to see there. Spent about two hours just going from building to building, looking at the exhibits detailing his life. Also visited the famous Pekan Rabu. Lots of little stores selling almost anything Malay. Bought a songkok and a baju Melayu. Couldn’t resist as it was cheap. Right now I’m going to see whether this bandar raya has a nightlife.

11.35 p.m.

Okay, it’s confirmed. This place is dead after 10 p.m. There are a couple of bistros (one just opposite my “hotel”) but nothing more. I went to the Star Walk (obviously a rip-off of Bintang Walk). Nothing there apart from a couple of coffee places (with about 10 people altogether) and a video arcade. I’m going to sleep now. Tired out after all the walking.

December 5, 2005

7.21 a.m.

It’s another morning. Sleep last night was marred by strange, vivid dreams. Will meander around town unless I find something better to do today. Okay, time to find some breakfast.

2.35 p.m.

Exhausted. Took a taxi to the Muzium Padi near Gunung Keriang this morning. The place was decent enough. The ground floor was all about paddy, which is not something I’m really interested in. The second floor had some interesting paintings, but the top floor was by far the best. There was a revolving platform that turned slowly and allowed you to view a lifelike mural of the view of Alor Star from the museum. Fascinating. Lunch was decent. Ate at this restaurant called “Old Tune.” The place’s décor is designed to look like a 1950s Chinese kopitiam. Took lots of photos. Whoops, it’s time to check out.

3.45 p.m.

Now on the bus. ‘Twas a quaint place, Alor Star. But it’s time for me to move on. Hatyai here I come!

Bukit Mertajam: The "nameless opposite-Dunlop" stall

2006-03-26T06:43:00.000-08:00

By Chong Joan-Lynn

The infamous Malay stall in Taman Bandaraya holds a complete monopoly on koay teow basah and my ever-favourite Ramly burgers in Bukit Mertajam. Every other food commodity, be it coffee, fries or hawker food, has some sort of competition here, making placing of the stalls/shops, prices, customer service and quality products very important factors to ensure the survival of the stall.

It's not as if the "nameless opposite-Dunlop" stall has amazing customer service or the best burgers either. Moreover, its location and prices are rather mediocre, and that's me being generous as I patronise the stall quite frequently. My constant visits to the stall have gotten me accustomed to the massive crowd there, not unlike those at the Mid Valley Megamall on Saturday afternoons. It was as if free food were being given out!

Being a self-proclaimed burger lover, I have to say that the stall's burger meat is above average but overall poorly packed as I find my whole burger unravelling on me, more often than not. The meat, with its slippery sauce, falls apart almost as soon as it is unwrapped from the rather soggy wrapper, and the lettuce is slurped up on the first bite due to its "intact" texture.

The koay teow basah is more expensive per plate compared to the ubiquitous fried koay teow. The gravy, though, ranks quite high up on my scale, a redeeming factor although it is the koay teow basah I want to eat, not the gravy.

Everyone I have talked to says that the service is good as the food is served fast. While this may be true, the first time I went there and didn't know what to order, I was told to "Cepat sikit Amoi … 'myak orang mau 'order' jugak tau." (Hurry up with the order. There are others waiting to order too) by a pompous guy. I had hesitated for all of 10 seconds as I wondering what koay teow basah was!

But as much as I complain, I still patronize the "nameless opposite-Dunlop" stall at least once a week, ordering a plate of koay teow basah and a piece of Ramly burger, which would inevitably fall apart or unravel in my hands. I may get frustrated but leave strangely satisfied after consuming it all.

And I simply can't just not eat there as these are my favourite food in the world, period. Cravings for koay teow basah cannot be overcome easily, and a weak person, I am. I am an addict who needs to feast on her favourite food, else withdrawal symptoms such as jitters, sudden outbursts, erratic behaviour and mood swings will occur (though people may say that that's just commonplace for me).

What's really needed is another Malay stall that sells koay teow basah and Ramly burgers in Taman Bandaraya to create competition for said 'nameless opposite-Dunlop' stall and draw away some of their business. That way, to stay in the financial game, "nameless-opposite-Dunlop" stall will need to lower their prices, get a better location, actually wrap their burgers properly and send their "waiters" for lessons in customer service.

From Kluang to KL: The journey north

2006-03-19T04:36:00.000-08:00

By Woon Tien Li

I am on the bus. Departing from the bus station, we weave through the traffic and head north-west. Jalan Batu Pahat. My former school is clearly visible from the road when the bus stops at the traffic lights. The black rusty signboard states “CANOSSIAN CONVENT” in silver block letterings.

One more minute, and I can see the orange building no more. A few more sets of traffic lights. Taman Saujana, the newly built housing area, has decorative flags along its main road. Then the factories: Asahi, which has since closed down; MML the tile factory. The lone driving school whose name I never bothered to remember.

We pass by the cemetery. Trees mark its boundary. Tall lalang everywhere except under those trees. A laterite road leading to an empty building used for funeral ceremonies divides the cemetery grounds into half. On the left, the Buddhist graves, each at a certain angle to ensure good feng shui. Here, Ah Kong and Ah Ma lie in silence next to each other. On the right, the simple Christian graves with white crosses exude calmness and peace.

The once winding road has now been straightened. There used to be endless rows of oil palms right next to the road. In the day you could see through the selang-seli of them till about 10 metres. At night, it is pitch black. Kids believe that “Beings” live in these oil palm estates, feeding on children who go that way at night.

Institut Penyelidikan dan Penternakan Haiwan Ayer Hitam consists of a few pink buildings and vast grounds. Commonly known as “Institut Haiwan,” it is popular as a camping ground and picnic ground. Outstation people fall in love with the rolling hills, the cows and horses and sheep and all the other animals. Indeed, the clouds do seem to draw close to you as you drive along the laterite road.

The journey to the Ayer Hitam toll plaza takes about 15 minutes, travelling at an average speed of 95 km per hour.

The bus turns left towards the toll gate. We cross the railway track, which runs through a tunnel below the road. I strain my eyes, hoping to get a glimpse of the town of Kluang, although I know full well I cannot. One last good look at the oil palm plantations. Green everywhere, with specks of brown shacks and shiny zinc roofs.

The bus reaches the toll gate. I inhale deeply. The signboard ahead points the way to Kuala Lumpur. I sigh and look out of the window behind me as Kluang slowly disappears from my sight.

No Antenna

2006-03-12T20:15:00.000-08:00

By Veera Ermyntrude*

Middle-aged ladies in my neighbourhood can always be counted on tell you the latest buzz about town. That has always fascinated me. How can something so confidential and chronological be presented over coffee like a radio documentary?

At times Mrs So-and-so will come to my mum with a Gossip FedEx; the conversation will go on until Mrs-So-and-so’s husband needed to leave. At other times, mom decides to stop being a taker and be a giver instead.

There are men who are good at this too, especially my dad’s FedEx pals. Most of the time I don’t understand what they are saying. Usually it’s about the stock market, Chinese association updates or the latest decision or announcement by politicians.

The older generation does this too. Visitation never comes without a bag of news. I’ve found that aging people have their own form of hype, and they command lengthy exchange of conversations. They get as much news as the middle-aged fellas, if not more. Only thing is that the accuracy of their information is highly suspect. The level of trustworthiness of their FedEx counterparts declines with age. Either the story is incomplete, one-sided or blown up with convincing facial expressions.

Close to high school graduation, a creative close friend gave away cards with descriptive illustrations. The guy who aspired to be a pilot had a plane on his card; the one who was nicknamed ‘Cow’ had a cute, spotted milk cow on it; and mine was a car with a bright circle on top. The antenna was missing. I was downgraded to this from having “no satellites” previously (I never knew who was seeing who, how they got together or which couple on the disciplinarian board broke up).

I wonder why I don’t get FedEx deliveries. Maybe because I don’t send out posts to others? My knowledge of a certain family’s secret comes from secondary sources and beyond. But if it comes to me, it will end on my side because I usually forget about it.

I don’t like to admit this, but FedEx conversations are not always performed discreetly so it is easy to eavesdrop. Well, even if you don’t want to pasang telinga, they are going to talk that loud anyway. And not only do they talk loud, they also talk fast, in terms of timeliness of information.

Let me illustrate. About half a year ago, my friend’s motorcycle crashed into a Proton Waja two junctions away from my house. He was thrown off about seven metres away but sustained only abrasions on the shin. They say the pillion rider usually gets the worse blow because he is unaware of what happened in that split second and has nothing to hold on to unlike the rider. I was the pillion.

For two minutes or so, I stood up from where I fell, went over to check on my friend, bent down to inspect his motorcycle and the Waja … all the time panicking. Reasons: It was my first accident, we hit a Waja, and we were late for a friend’s wedding. The Waja driver asked if I was okay, and I insisted I was. I hurried my friend to get up and get going since the bike looked “fine.” A small crowd was growing at the scene. All the time, I was trying to hide my face.

“Ni OK ma? (Are you OK?)” my friend gasped.

“Can we leave now? Please? I don’t want my parents to find out about this yet. Can we go now?” I whispered loudly to him. We must go immediately; if not for the wedding, for the sake of avoiding being the FedEx topic for the week.

“You better get a check-up at the hospital, Miss,” the Waja driver came over again.
“I’m fine,” I nearly barked at him.

“What fine? Your legs are shaking,” he pointed to my lower limbs.

I looked down. My knees were knocking madly. I lifted my head to reply but the weight of the helmet suddenly tripled (which reminded me that my head banged into something but the helmet was still securely in place after the whole incident). My head was heavy, and there were blinking black spots everywhere.

Trying to reach for my handphone, I felt a sharp pang exploding from my right shoulder. My body felt like a lump of plasticine as I walked haggardly to the sidewalk and sat down. My hearing was about to go bonkers as my friend removed my helmet.

“Hel-lo … it’s-me,” I choked when my brother picked up the call, “Lis-ten-care-ful-ly… I-I-had-an-ac-ci-dent-be-hind-house … I’m-o-kay … Don’t-tell-mum-come-a-lone … bring-car-take-me-to-hos-pi-tal … Don’t-tell-mu-mu-um-o-o-o-ka-ay …”

He agreed to my terms and very soon I saw a figure so familiar to my eyes. My brother picked me up as I limped into the battered Kenari, head hung low. This time it was not to avoid the crowd. I barely had the energy to lift this hard cranium. A worried looking mom was at the passenger’s seat.

“Yo-u-be-be-trayed-mm-mee,” I stuttered in suppressed anger, “I-tt-told-you-not-to-tt-tell-mom.”

Even with eyes shut tight, I could feel the car moving very fast to our destination. Brother the driver let out his ultimate defense, “It’s not my fault! Even before you called, a man down the road came on motorcycle to break the news already.”

I nearly passed out.

Ah well, perhaps I should learn how to kaypo from now on.

*guest writer from Penang

BM? You mean, Bahasa Malaysia?

2006-03-05T06:18:00.000-08:00

By Chong Joan-Lynn

The ‘bukit.’

For someone who has been living in Bukit Mertajam since five, I sure am an embarrassment to this town. Until recently when I was digging out info on Bukit Mertajam, I had no idea how it got its name. Literally, I was guessing a hill of some sort. Thankfully, I wasn’t far off! Like many other towns, Bukit Mertajam is named after a tree.

The Mertajam tree is smaller than the Ipoh or Melaka trees, with ruby red berries that develop after the creamy panicle of tiny blossoms. Old local residents discovered many Mertajam trees growing only at this area, and most of the plants were located on higher ground (the hill), ergo the name Bukit Mertajam (which is actually Malay for Mertajam Hill).

For those who are not familiar with Bukit Mertajam, the town has been called many names. Locals refer to it as simply BM or Bukit Ubat (medicinal hill) because of the therapeutic qualities attributed to the hill, and among the Hokkiens, it’s Tua Swa Kah which translates simply as being at the foot of a big mountain. In the mid-1900s, it was even called Little Hatyai.

The population of Bukit Mertajam, based on the latest calculation, shows 221 882 people. Bukit Mertajam is predominantly Chinese populated representing 50% of the total population whereas the Malay population is about 35%. The Indian community represents 10% and others are at 5%. Hence, majority of the locals converse in Hokkien.

Bukit Mertajam is actually a quaint small town with a number of attractions. Among the few spots one should not miss when passing through the town is definitely the Bukit Mertajam Recreational Forest, Mengkuang Dam, the St. Anne’s Sanctuary Bukit Mertajam, the Highway Auto City, and the busy Market Road. These places are usually packed with tourists and even among the locals during the public and school holidays. As to the exact locations of those places and further details on them, I’d leave it for some other day to talk about.

One of the best things to do during the night in this town is to have supper in stalls, be it Mamak ones, or Malay ones. This is the place where teenagers and adults gather at night for light chats, watch sport games, and just basically “hang out”. Besides the common Roti Canai, Nasi Kandar and Teh Ais Limau, Koay Teow Basah is one of Bukit Mertajam’s specialties. If you have never heard of it, Koay Teow Basah is almost alike Fried Koay Teow, except this one is not fried, but served with some spicy gravy.

Looking for a place to stay? Worry not, for accommodations are available from budget hotels to the three-star Summit Prescott Hotel. There is also a rest house, and if one prefers to lodge closer to nature, the chalets at the Bukit Mertajam Recreational Forest are recommended. These accommodations are situated all over the town, thus public transports are easily accessible.

Bukit Mertajam is well known for the Feast of St. Anne. The feast is celebrated by Catholics. Each year in July, the St. Anne’s Feast draws thousands & thousands of visitors from around the country and abroad to small-town, Bukit Mertajam. People flock to pay homage and thanks St. Anne for countless prayers answered and petitions granted.

If you intend to travel here by car, on the North-South Highway, exit at Bukit Mertajam. From the toll plaza, follow signboards to the town. The drive from the plaza takes about 20 minutes. Or, if you are really worried about getting lost, you can always take a train from KL Sentral. The more popular stops up north are Alor Setar and Butterworth. The Bukit Mertajam train station is just a stop ahead of the Butterworth train station.

Small Towns: An introduction from a bridge

2006-02-26T23:29:00.000-08:00

By Woon Tien Li

I love to watch the traffic from overhead bridges. That day in Damansara Uptown, I leaned against the railing of one and looked down. The twin lanes to my left were nearly empty, whereas the ones on my right were jammed up—no one seemed to be moving above 30kmph.

Contrast that experience with those I have had from the overhead bridge in front of my alma mater. Back home, cars zipped back and forth under the bridge, thrilling me with a motley crew of Nissan’s, Proton’s, and Hicom’s. I wonder if perhaps cities are devoid of this simple, free entertainment.

“Huh?” You ask, “Is this how small town folk spend their days?”

Let me be in denial here: Of course not!

So to prove our meaningful existence, here we are, we who have lived all our young lives in bandar-bandar kecil.