Conversion

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C.S. Lewis, after serving in the British army during the First World War, “returned to Oxford University, he received a First in Honour Moderations (Greek and Latin literature) in 1920, a First in Greats (Philosophy and Ancient History) in 1922, and a First in English in 1923. In 1924 he became a philosophy tutor at University College and, in 1925, was elected a Fellow and Tutor in English Literature at Magdalen College, where he served for 29 years until 1954.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/).

In his partial autobiography `Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life”, he reflected on his conversion:

You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England. I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms. The prodigal son at least walked home on his own feet. But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape?… The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and his compulsion is our liberation.

G.K. Chesterton, one of the dominating figures of the London literary scene in the early twentieth century, a journalist and social philosopher, converted to Catholicism at the age of 48. He wrote a poem titled `The Convert’ (1927):

After one moment when I bowed my head
And the whole world turned over and came upright,
And I came out where the old road shone white.
I walked the ways and heard what all men said,
Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,
Being not unlovable but strange and light;
Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite
But softly, as men smile about the dead

The sages have a hundred maps to give
That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,
They rattle reason out through many a sieve
That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:
And all these things are less than dust to me
Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

As I read about their lives and encounters with God, it made me reflect on mine. When I was 16, my family moved to a new home and I shared a bedroom with my sister and we had a dressing table with a large mirror where at a short distance, you can see yourself from head to toe. It was very useful for checking out how you look or dress before going out. Unlike my sister, I hardly checked how I dressed but that did not make me less vain. Come to think of it, my vanity was more deep rooted even though my sister is 6 years older.

I was very active in school and spent most of my time out of the house. However, when alone in my bedroom, I would at times sit at the dressing table and take a look at myself. One day, I began to talk to myself at the mirror and examined my face closely. I remembered asking myself, “Who am I?” I recalled not being able to answer that question and went on to ask more questions like `What am I here for?’, ‘What is life all about?’ and `Who is God?’ Although I was raised in a family that goes to church and I went to a Methodist school (primary), it didn’t make me a believer. I know all the church speak and was involved in a lot of the activities in church since young and even excelled in them like I did for my school activities. Somehow, I had never really known why I was involved and just played along with the activities as there was nothing wrong with them. In fact you can say they were mostly good and noble stuff.

But there was always this emptiness inside, like a vacuum that couldn’t be filled with all the hype and activities going on in my life. That’s when I asked myself those questions. I took the time to stop all the `noise’ and searched my heart. Something was stirring within me and I saw bible verses at my study table that states:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication
with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
(Philippians 4:6-7 ESV).

They were the key verses I used to look at and quietly pray when I studied for my GCE O levels exams. It was more because I was in panic mode as I had not been studying and it was less than 3 months before the exams. I have been using God for emergencies only.

But back to the mirror reflection… this was something else. I could not let this go on. The best I can describe this feeling was I had no peace within me. There must be a reason for me to be born, to live and eventually die. It was not meant to be in vain or vain glorious. That was clear to me. It was when I acknowledged my human condition, the need to be saved from my wretchedness, and the saving grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, that the love of God swept in to fill that vacuum so perfectly that I could only bow down in humble adoration. This was why Chesterton could say he was Lazarus and he lives. Likewise I was dead to sin and the resurrection power of Christ has brought me back to life.

What then, was the road smooth sailing? It surely wasn’t. In fact, it gets harder as long as I am in this human condition and in this world. However, the BIG difference is, the peace of God that surpasses all understanding has filled that vacuum. Life becomes richer and clearer, and God is no longer an emergency number but a blessed assurance of a relationship with an omnipresent and loving God who walks and talks with me every moment of my life. It’s no longer I that live but Christ that lives in me.

I can only conclude this experience with this passage which I read to my grandmother by her hospital bed in 2001:

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life, and
I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
(Psalm 23 ESV)

Free Our Children

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Where can we find today, the likes of Michaelangelo, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, Picasso, Isaac Newton, Einstein, Wordsworth, Keats, Charles Dickens or Shakespeare ? Our modern day prominent figures are mainly those who have built their corporations through their creativity and business acumen, such as Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Warren Buffet and Jack Ma. There are many other inventors and talented people out there but we hardly hear of any that can match the classics of the past. Why is this so? There should be many reasons but I would like to explore further on one aspect: the education of the young; our future leaders, inventors, artists and teachers.

Back in 1955, C.S. Lewis, a great philospher and author, wrote an essay, “Lilies that Fester” which I found quite applicable in today’s context. Surprisingly back then, it was already seen as a problem or troubling concern and it was about how the young were being educated. C.S. Lewis saw how it would impact future generations and felt ‘lucky’ that his childhood was spared this stifling situation. The following are excerpts from his essay:

“The pupil is now far more defenceless in the hands of the teachers… He has hardly ever been alone. The educational machine seizes him very early and organises his whole life, to the exclusion of all unsuperintended solitude or leisure.”

“The hours of unsponsored, uninspected, perhaps even forbidden, reading, the ramblings, and the ‘long, long thoughts’ in which those of luckier generations first discovered literature and nature and themselves are a thing of the past.”

“In short, the modern pupil is the ideal patient for those masters who, not content with teaching a subject, would create a character; helpless Plasticine.”

Fast forward 2015; 60 years has passed since this essay was written, what has become of those children? Where are they today? What kind of leaders, inventors, artists or teachers have come forth? Ordinary or extraordinary; common or unique?

I would like to pose 5 questions about children today:

1 Is our education geared towards developing the potential of each individual according to their own ability?
2 Does the child have enough time (no rush) to play and spend time with the family?
3 Are the holidays filled with nature, motor-skill games, sunshine and lots of laughter?
4 Does the child get to day dream or look at the stars and enjoy the breeze or nature?
5 Do we let our children grow in their own pace and time to discover their own talents without letting the school determine that for us?

If most of our answers are “No”, then we have a troubling future. This would mean that there will be less and less people who can think, dream or discover as we let the school or society do that for them. Now I see why the term ‘Plasticine’ was used by C.S. Lewis as the young were being molded into whatever shape the education or system wants them to be.

I don’t think anyone of us wants our children to become like this and we can all stop by helping them have a life of their own, to learn and grow in a safe and real environment, not a stifling or artificial one.

BEWARE! We only have one set of TEETH!

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Of course you know this already. I am not trying to be sarcastic or insulting but merely making a proclamation of enamel enlightenment. Over the years, my visits to the dentist has turned into a steep-upward climb in costs and saving my teeth but I think saving Gaia (the earth) has a far better chance than my teeth.

Why did I choose to write about this? Well, I told the dentist at my last visit when I boldly propped myself up on the reclined chair, raised my hand, pointed upwards and said, “I must tell all parents and parents-to-be about how important it is to inculcate good dental hygiene in their children.” Actually, this also applies to everyone who have teeth (real ones).

I have bragged in several posts about my kampung (village) life but there was one area that I cannot and that was because adults then had little knowledge of dental care and it had caused many kids, including myself to suffer the consequences of this. I was called “Bo geh” (no teeth)

bo geh

when I was 4 or 5 years old and it was not uncommon for kids in the kampung to have rotting teeth and pulling them out with their fingers every now and then. Our second set of teeth had to come out prematurely and they looked over-sized on most of the kids. My mouth had no space for the permanent set, so the canines grew above the incisors and premolars (the photo below will help you visualise).

Teeth

Then I was given other nick names like “Dracula” or “Vampire”. Well, the growing up years will continue to fill other blog topics but for now, the main focus is on the recent dental saga.

It was the first time that I chose to visit another dentist to seek a second opinion. Over the past 6 years I have been visiting a particular dentist near my neighborhood and it belonged to a dental group (more established and has several clinics). After sometime like several root canals, crowning and a bridge later, I was taken aback when my concerns raised in a routine visit was brushed off. Somehow, I felt that there were cavities or problems that need to be looked into but the dentist only clean the teeth and asked me to come back in 6 months.

Obviously, I was back before the 6-month period as I was having pain. The dentist analysed and took an x-ray and then recommended another root canal and crowning job for the molar or a referral to the specialist as it was near the nerves. It took two dentists and two visits where they `knocked the rockers off’ my poor tooth to figure whether it was cracked or not. I felt that it may have cracked just by their knocking! In the end, the inlay on the tooth was taken out and a temporary filling was made and I was given 3 months to come back for another assessment. I left 250 bucks poorer and none the better :(.

“That was it!”, I said to myself and looked for another dentist’s opinion.

I visited another neighborhood dental clinic near my home which did not have the corporate stylish-look-and-feel of the previous one. It was homely and cosy inside and when I entered the dentist office, a young female dentist attended to me. I related my experience, she patiently listened and never once concurred with my critical slant on the other clinic (without revealing their identity). She started by checking every single tooth asking her assistant to record down what she said as she move from one tooth to another. My heart sank as I heard her uttering coded language for practically every tooth as the assistant frantically wrote down her rather long assessment. It sounded like I was a badly wounded soldier in an ER!

Of course she needed an x-ray to have a better assessment of the whole teeth so it was done with my agreement that it would be a large one rather than focus on the problem tooth only. Then she went through the `war zone’ with me. She stated about 4 more cavities that needed attention and gave me an idea of the urgency of each where the more important ones could be worked on first. This made me feel that the previous clinic was not interested in `small’ jobs and did not highlight any of these problems during the routine check. They wanted the more `lucrative’ ones and I am all the more angry about this but did not say it to this dentist.

The problem molar was the real intense discussion after the overview was done. I had 3 options; root canal with crown, extraction, or implant. Each had its pros and cons and they were not at all rosy. Hope by now you know why I am compelled to write about this as it is really not worth experiencing all these in your adulthood as it affects your general well being as well as burn a rather big hole not only in your teeth but also in your pockets!

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So take care everyone!

Candy Crush vs Angry Ball

I think there are two groups of people today. Those who play games on computers or mobile devices and those who don’t. My guess is that the group that plays these games are much larger than those who don’t. Those who do not play these games would find it harder to play other games as the numbers had shrunk and the interests in such games are fading.

I missed those times when I could play games with my fellow kampung (village) friends. There was nothing digital going on at that time and there were many situations that required improvisation and imagination to play. It involved leadership, teamwork and it built camaraderie. We grew up appreciating and respecting each other and I am grateful to still be in touch with some of these friends today. The whole kampung was our playground. The kind of games we played was simple yet fun and adventurous, at times even dangerous.

One of the games was `Police and Thief’ where half the group (thieves) will have a headstart to run and hide while the other half (police) will have to find and catch them. They need to catch and bring them to a detention place (designated before the game starts).  To win the game, the police need to catch all the thieves. The thieves who were yet to be caught could attempt to rescue those detained by running pass the guard and tapping any of the detainees to set them free. One round of game can last over an hour and can be very tiring. It seemed simple but it was an elaborate game covering an area about the size of a football field. The area had clusters of wooden houses, trees, back alleys, lumber yard, shops and huts. Each group had to come together and strategise before playing the game and leaders were appointed to make decisions and negotiate terms with the opponents along the way. This elaborate game needed quite a number of players to make it work so when the numbers were low, other games were played.

One such game was called `Hantam Bola’ (meaning `Hit with Ball’ in Malay). This was a painful game and most girls would make excuses not to play (except for hyperactive me). Why was it painful?  The ball was made of a leathery-rubber material, hollow and about the size of a tennis ball. The photo below is a close example but the ones we used had red oriental patterns on it:

Old rubber ball

This ball, when thrown at high speed and hits you, it would really hurt and sting. How was the game played? Players had to stand inside a rectangle drawn on the ground, about the size of half a basketball court. There will be a small hole dug out at one side of the court in the middle and each player will take turns to attempt to put the ball in the hole by rolling it on the ground towards the hole. The diagram below will give you a better idea of the layout (the stars represent the players):

Hantam Bola field

Once anyone managed to get the ball in, he or she would run to the ball, grab it and throw it from the position of the hole towards the other players who would be running frantically to dodge the ball. Whoever gets hit by the ball or run out of the rectangle will be out of the game. If the thrower missed hitting anyone, he or she will be out of the game. The game was a process of elimination where the last kid standing will become the champion. Can you imagine what happens when the ball gets in the hole?  It will become an angry ball indeed and you will hear the piercing, terrified screams of the players as well. Those who got hit by the ball was not only out of the game but received a souvenir in the form of the ball’s imprint wherever it landed. It will remain for a day or two.. ouch! Some were hit at the back, arm or leg and some less fortunate ones, on the face!

I believe my real school was from these games and not from formal education as I cannot recall any of those lessons today. Most of all, we were all as fit as a fiddle running around like headless chickens as we were screaming our heads off in most of the games. It was terrifying yet wonderful!

I shall leave you with what happened to fit as fiddle these days through my favourite character as usual 🙂

Snoopy's Brother

Boo you to Sleep!

One distinct difference of my childhood from current times were the absence of mobile devices and cable TV to distract us in our homes. We, the kampung (village) children, after dinner would be found sitting on the patio amongst the older folks who would chat about their day’s experience or happenings. These folks had a captive audience in us and when we seemed restless, they would begin to rattle us with their tales. I would not say they were our favourite storytellers but they did send shivers down our spines.

One of the tale was “Orang Minyak” (means oily man in Malay). This slippery man would prowl in the middle of the night peeping through the open windows of houses to find any women asleep in the room so he can molest her. He was supposedly naked but during that era, having only a pair of shorts on would have the same impact. This Orang Minyak (OM) would be covered with black oil from head to toe so he could not be easily spotted at night.

There were no tall buildings in the kampung and houses were made of wood with zinc roof. Kerosene lamps were used as electricity supply was still progressing and we had a single light bulb for each room in the house. Windows were usually left open as electric fan or air-conditioning was uncommon. So when a woman’s scream was heard in the middle of the night, they would say the OM had struck again. The woman who screamed would recount that someone had touched her while she was asleep and when asked to describe the perpetrator, she would say, “It was a dark shadow that jumped out of the window” or “I could only see his teeth” or “… the white of his eyes”. The next day, the victims would find their clothing, bed sheets and curtains stained with black oil. This tale made many female folks afraid to sleep near the window or to walk alone at night for fear of being pounced upon by the elusive and slippery OM. Ironically, this tale made it to movies and TV series and was popular. I would like to add a photo of the OM but it was too dark to spot him 🙂

Another tale that was scarier was the kampung version of a vampire. She or it or whatever, was known as “Pontianak”. This character or thing is complicated as there were several versions from different countries. However, I will share the kampung storytellers’ version. Pontianak can be described as a female ghost wearing a long, white, flowing gown and has long, unkempt hair that covers most of her face. She also had long fingernails and ugly teeth with fangs. Well, there were plenty of examples on google images so here’s one that fits closely to what was described to us and yes, it made it to the movies and TV too:

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We were told that the Pontianak resides in banana trees which caused us children to steer clear away from any banana trees at night. The way she would appear to humans would be as a very beautiful woman but that would be when she had a nail embedded in her head. This nail is those metal ones you used to hammer pieces of wood together. When that nail is pulled out from her head, she would transform into Pontianak and need to feed on human blood. How would she do that? Same as vampires!

There are stories you cherish in your childhood but these were not the ones. They left an indelible memory of cringe worthy tales that adults `lavished’ on us when they think the children were bored. The adults were good storytellers or tale spinners of the kampung and they enjoyed spooking the life out of women and children. However, my favourite storytellers are Charles Dickens, Roald Dahl, Jeffrey Archer and John Irving to name a few but they were not as spooky as Snoopy.

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When I reflect on the sinister side of those tales, I could come up with a few explanation. For example, the nights can get pretty warm so sleeping near the windows were best. The OM tale was one way of getting the women away from the choice spot. Fruit trees were often pilfered and banana trees were important food source in the kampung. Keeping children away from it by saying it was the residence of Pontianak would go a long way for the owners.  What do you think?

Daily Prompt: Fight or Flight

Go Fly Kite

This is a kind of ‘Singlish’ (Singapore’s brand of english) phrase used for telling people off. It is saying ‘don’t waste my time’ and ‘go do something frivolous’ in the process. Sometimes it is said in jest amongst friends when someone had cracked a lousy joke or was sarcastic but it can also be used to tick someone off when the person had offended you or demanded something outrageous.

Well, it was totally different in my kampung (village) days when someone was to say, “Go fly kite.” We would all jump with glee at the opportunity to do so, especially on a bright and windy day! When I was too young to fly a kite, I would look at the older kids flying one and how they prepared their kites. It was not only the thrill of flying it, it was more of the competition. Yes, you heard me right, a competition!

Fancilful kites

Fanciful Fun Kites

The photo above showed many colorful and fanciful kites that people usually fly near the beach or at a high open ground. Well these are not the kites I was referring to. The kites that we flew or rather compete with other kite flyers was not much to look at as shown in the following photo:

Local kites

Kites we flew during our kampung days.

The kite was not larger than a foot square and made of thin translucent paper held and glued up with two pieces of thin bamboo twigs. It costs around 30 to 50 cents and were sold at provision shops in the kampung. However, the demand was for those that had a particular `brand’ which sells out faster than the others and it was because the workmanship was better. Before I go into the kite flying part, let me elaborate on the whole structure of this kite flying community (mainly children between 8 and 16 years old). There will be those who fly the kites, those who made the strings, those who retrieve the kites and those who watch the whole thing. Some may be involved in more than one of these activities.

The group that prepared the strings earned by selling these special strings to the kite flyers. The strings would be laced with powdered glass… yes, glass mixed with some kind of glue mixture. The string would be wound around some tree trunks to spread it out and the craftsman or kid would use a rag dipped in the glue-glass mixture and run it through the strings, it would cover about two thirds the length of the string starting from the point attached to the kite. You may figure out why it was done this way later. The strings would be left to dry and then rolled back to its holder. These strings cost more than the kites obviously.

The group that retrieve the kites would usually be in a group or in pairs and the leader would carry an improvised long pole that sometimes looked like deer antlers at the top. They would go in the direction of a loose kite which usually landed on a rooftop, a tree or telephone wires. Some of the kites would drift far beyond what these groups could follow so they would stop and look for another within reach. These retriever groups would `fight’ when they reached a kite at the same time and more often than not, the kite would be torn to shreds by the retrieving poles and you would hear them swearing at each other but soon split up to look for another kite.

Now, the kite flyers would be the ones battling it out in the skies and I managed to learn the craft of choosing the right kites, made the glass embedded strings (with the help of my kampung gang) and fly the kites. We even had mentors in the form of adults who were experienced in kite flying in the past and I would listen to their tales and methods. Armed with good kites and strings, with the winds in my favour and choosing the right spot with unobstructed view from my side of the kampung… LET THE GAME BEGIN!

Once my kite was launched in the air, I will let it go up as high as the others already in the air. Keeping such a small kite steady with strong winds was not easy. Here’s the real challenge. When you reach the same level or range with the rest of the other kites in the air, THE BATTLE BEGINS! Soon you will see a kite making a sudden swerve towards another and the intention was to cross the line (string) of that kite so it would get cut off (now you know why the glass embedded string was used). When that happens, you will see the victim kite suddenly fall out from the group. Sometimes, the aggressor may get cut off too if the defender had `sharper’ and stronger strings. The battle was in the skies so the lower part of the strings need not be covered with that mixture so hope this explained the two thirds coverage.

When I first started off in this raging aerial battle, I kept a lower altitude so it was difficult for the aggressor to reach me and some people think that it was cowardly. Well, I was new and cowardly. The aggressive kites had a particular color and style so we sort of know that it belonged to a particular group in the kampung. Newbies tend to lose their kites a lot and it can get costly especially when the strings were also cut off. After some practice and a loss of a few kites, I devised a strategy. I decided to fly the kite to one side of the group a little further off to let them give chase and I would swiftly bring the kite back before they could reach me. When they could not reach me, they had to turn back to their original position and there I would choose to strike! I would quickly go back in and turn towards them and WADDAYANOE! That was a happy day for my side of the kampung as we managed to `chop off’ 3 aggressive kites and could fly a little longer than usual that day.

From then on, my confidence was heightened and I became the pride of my gang. So the next round I flew a kite, there were spectators as word got out about our `killing’. I began to experiment more with some methods of quick twists and twirls with my kite and WALA! This time not only did we cut off the kites, we managed to bring back a kite by twirling around the string when it was drifting away. Soon I was bringing back the `spoils of war’ one by one and the haul was 3 for that day! My spectators cheered when we cut off kites and cheered even more when we brought back kites.

I must say those were the GLORY DAYS!

So if someone was to say to me, “Go Fly Kite!” I will say, “Thank you for the memories!”

Superhero (Part 3) – It’s all about the Birds!

Having dogs as a regular part of our family was due to my dad’s love for animals. Birds however, were his main obsession which you will get to know soon. During our kampung days, my dad included dogs in the family as they were known to be loyal guardians of families and homes. Break-ins and thefts of property were common in our kampung during the 1960s and 1970s. We had other creatures included like a couple of white mice that I brought home but my mom’s squeals when I played with them in the house and their subsequent disappearance from my makeshift cage, made it no longer feasible to keep them. Much to my dismay, cats could not be included as they would frighten the birds or even worse, eat them, so my dad would not risk having them around.

After my family settled in the new high-rise living in 1979, the birds came along as they have been my dad’s lifelong passion. Somehow, dogs were still added on later by us children and my dad just embraced all of them and walked them daily.

Dad bringing Patchy, Rusty and Jamie out for their daily walk at the foot of our block.

Dad bringing (from left) Patchy, Rusty and Jamie out for their daily walk at the foot of our block.

No matter which type of animals that came into our family’s life, it was still all about the birds when you see my dad. He was into it from rearing them the moment they were hatched, trapping them in the jungle to buying or exchanging them with fellow bird lovers. There was one that prominently stood out with him and it was the White-eye Finch, known locally as “Mata Puteh” (a malay description for white-eye) and the following photo will help you see why the small and feisty bird got its name:

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I believe my dad gained a reputation as the “King of Mata Puteh” as he had several wins under his belt such as winning the first prize in a bird singing competition as shown in the following photo dated back in the late 1960s or early 1970s:

Dad won 1st prize in a Mata Puteh bird singing competition

He rose in the ranks of owners of competition standard Mata Puteh such that he was invited to be a judge in such competitions. He had to give up taking part in the competition as it would conflict with his role as a judge but he just loved doing it all as it would promote a hobby that he loved. Here’s a rare photo of my dad judging at one of these competitions:

Dad Judging at a Mata Puteh Singing Competition

You may think that so much time was devoted to one particular species of birds but that was not all. There was another species called “Merbok” and I just learned that it is a Zebra Dove! This bird was like the `luxury model’ of all the species of birds at that time and there were stories about the Sultans (Kings) in Malaysia trading their Mercedes Benz for such top birds in competitions and there is even a town in Malaysia called Merbok, for reasons unknown to me.

My dad had an old friend called Uncle Henry who lived in an old shack up in the old Kampung Eunos and if I remembered correctly, the road leading to his place was Jalan Singa. He was poor and lived alone in a little hut that was at the back of another wooden house and it was the size of a small room. My dad would visit him regularly and brought me along and he and Uncle Henry would sit and chat the whole day about merbok which my dad had one or two. I believe Uncle Henry was his mentor and perhaps they shared one or two potential birds that my dad had invested in (rearing it according to strict diet and care). Here is another rare photo of Uncle Henry and dad with their merbok after winning the first prize at a Merbok singing competition:

Uncle Henry and Dad wining the 1st Prize at a Merbok Singing Competition

I think no one will dispute it if anyone was to say my dad was “Birdman”. After all, his name is Robert and many of his peers, including mom, called him “Bert” which sounds like bird anyway.