And my story began one morning in early March at the KL General Hospital. On the same day that I was born, elsewhere in the world, the first US combat forces arrived in Vietnam with 3,500 Marines and the UK No 1 hit was I'll Never Find Another You by The Seekers. That year was a tumultous year in the annals of local history. Lee Kuan Yew and Tunku Abdul Rahman sought to meet the demands of their respective communities and amidst a yawning ideology gap, found that separation was the only way out, thus paving the way for the birth of the tiny nation called Singapore. That same year, The Sound Of Music won the Oscar for Best Picture.
Oblivious to the changing world around us, back in the KL General Hospital, I was happily cosseted by a doting mother and a father, who could have been happier if I were a son, but nevertheless, rejoiced at my birth, his first biological daughter. At that time, the gender of the baby was not known until the actual birth and I could imagine how anxious both my parents must have been while awaiting my arrival.
I was given a name to signify the high expectations that they had of me, a name that is not overtly feminine, which was the trend at that time (eg flower, cloud, rainbow), but a name that sought to combine elegance with greatness and majestic splendour. It was a good name - a name that carried the hopes and the cherished dreams of my mother.
The nurses in the hospital had another name for me, though. "King Kong", they nicknamed me. At >9 lbs (>4kg) at birth, I was a huge baby with lusty cries. I believe I must have got the best of attention from the nurses because we were in a first class ward. My father was a respected civil servant who enjoyed hugely subsidised rates in the government hospital and would never consider a private hospital, unless he was under extreme duress.
My first home was the ground floor unit of a 3-storey walk-up apartment block in the "East End" of KL (see above). We lived with my maternal grandmother who, bless her, took care of me and my mother. My father went for a World Tour shortly after my birth. A World Tour was a big deal at that time and I believe he was away for months. I have seen a photograph of my father at the Macao landmark, Ruins of St Paul, and some postcards that he wrote to my mother in his well-formed cursive handwriting.I have not heard many stories about me when I was a baby, but my mother loved to tell the story of how I learnt to walk at 9 months (which could be a mother's exaggeration, I don't know, or maybe not, because after all, I was a big baby to begin with). I was already running around during my 1-year-old birthday celebration, with the knife meant for cutting my birthday cake in my hand. We did have some photographs taken on that special occasion which I promise to hunt down one of these days.
My mother's other favourite story was how I was admitted to the KL General Hospital when I was 17 months old, at the same time that she was admitted for the delivery of my younger sister. I had some throat problems - it could be croup or tonsilitis - but it was definitely something serious enough that warranted close medical supervision. But as my grandmother did not want to cause my mother any anxiety while she was recuperating from the birth of my sister, my mother was actually kept in the dark about it. Understandably, she was pretty upset later when she found out.
When I was very young, my bogyman was one of my mother's close friend, a lady called Lily. I do not know why but I grew to fear her more than anyone else. I know that at times, memory may blend with imagination, so that one is unable to separate the two after a long while. But to this day, I have a vision of a very young me sobbing after taking a bath, half naked with just a towel draped around me, and Aunty Lily wielding a cane at me! Was it trauma that caused this slice of memory to be burnt deeply into my psyche, I wonder?
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