ON my third day at the Borneo Bulletin of Brunei Press in Bandar Seri Begawan, I embarked on my writing journey. It was December 3, 1997, when I eagerly joined the paper as an editorial assistant. During my trial period, I was assigned the task of transcribing news from Brunei TV and translating it from Malay into English. This experience served as a foundation for my growth in the field.
Within three months, my dedication and passion for writing led to a promotion to the role of Junior Sub Editor. This achievement marked an important milestone in my career, affirming my abilities and commitment to the editorial team.
During the intervals between my assignments covering the 7 pm and 10 pm TV news, I was free to do my own thing. On the third day, December 6 of that year, I stumbled upon a blank book, and in it I began writing about my experiences in school, starting with my first day at Nanga Assam Primary School in Saratok in early January 1962.
I vividly recalled the intriguing moment when a diverse group of Primary 1 students, ranging in age from seven to fifteen years old, and even older, took a daring plunge into the Melupa River, a Krian tributary right in front of the school. Some of the girls were already showing signs of advanced mammary development.
My brother Jon, who was 14 at the time, six years older than me, and I were among the few exceptions. It was Jon who promptly reported the incident to our uncle Michael Abunawas, who served as both the headmaster and sole teacher.
Upon hearing the news, Uncle Abunawas rushed to the riverbank, sternly admonishing the boys and girls to cease their naked bathing. He instructed everyone to get out of the water and warned them against repeating such behaviour.
The following morning, during the assembly, which marked the second day of the school year, Uncle Abunawas expressed his disappointment over the incident and emphasised that it must not happen again.
That marked the starting point for the book I intended to title ‘From Longhouse to City.’ I proceeded to include various interesting episodes from subsequent chapters, such as my jungle adventures in Upper Melupa while residing in our rubber garden at a place called Bukit Tinggi, which was just a 30-minute walk from the school.
At that time, my father, who was 52, led our family, including my mother, maternal grandmother, and my elder brother Jon (also known as Chandi), to live in a humble hut away from our longhouse, Kedap. It took about forty-five minutes to reach the hut by foot, downstream from the school.
Between 1962 and 1967, the year we sat for our Common Entrance Exam, I included numerous captivating events in the book, ranging from school-related incidents to encounters at the edge of the jungle where our hut stood.
One particular item recounted my Olympic-like feat of escaping a king cobra, which had poised itself to strike from just a few meters away, hindered only by a frog in its mouth.
I owe my life to that struggling frog, whose distressing sound had initially caught my attention.
In 1965, our school was visited by Datuk (later Datuk Amar) Dunstan Endawi Enchana, a Local Government Minister in Ningkan’s Cabinet. He was accompanied by Awang Hipni Pengiran Anu, another minister.
Endawi introduced me to Awang Hipni as his cousin, and the latter touched my shoulder, offering his best wishes for my academic pursuits.
Lastly, regarding the school, I wrote about our Common Entrance Exam, which consisted of three papers: English Language, General Knowledge, and Arithmetic.
In my narrative, I recalled not feeling well during the exam and completing the final paper, Arithmetic, in 30 minutes instead of the allotted 45 minutes.
Months later, I discovered that I had scored 100 on all my papers. It was no surprise that I achieved 72.8% in the first term exam for Form One at SMK Saratok in 1968 and became the top student across all Form One classes.
At SMK Saratok, there were several noteworthy incidents. In 1969, while in Form Two, I was among 13 students caught gambling in the hostel and subsequently suspended from both the hostel and the school for two weeks. My poor father had to accompany me to school for my readmission as a boarding student.
However, he did not scold me because, upon returning home to begin my punishment, I handed him a fifty ringgit note, part of the cash I had won in the gambling session held in the school’s hostel.
I recall that in 1985 when I became the head of the school, I informed some teachers about the likely locations where students would gather for gambling sessions outside the school. Acting on my tips, they managed to catch a few students.
In 1971, I wrote about our batik painting exhibition at the British Council premises in Kuching, led by our Art teacher and my distant cousin, Joshua Jali Linggong. I had three pieces exhibited, and I was delighted that all of them sold by the end of the event. It was my first taste of success as an artist, and it fueled my passion for creativity.
Throughout my high school years, I continued to document significant moments and experiences in my book. I wrote about my involvement in various extracurricular activities, such as joining the school choir and participating in drama productions. I also shared stories of friendship, academic achievements, and challenges faced during those formative years.
As I progressed to college and later pursued a career, my book expanded to include chapters on my higher education journey, professional endeavours, and personal growth. I chronicled my time at university, my first job, and the valuable lessons I learned along the way.
Over the years, my book turned into a memoir. It captured not just my life but also the changes and developments in the world around me. It became a reflection of my experiences, dreams, and aspirations. Each chapter was a snapshot of a particular period, filled with emotions, anecdotes, and insights.
Writing this book served as a therapeutic outlet for me, allowing me to process my thoughts and reflect on my journey. It also became a way to preserve memories and share my story with others. I hoped that by sharing my experiences, readers would find inspiration, guidance, or simply a relatable connection.
As the years went by, my book grew thicker, filled with a lifetime of experiences. It became a cherished possession, a tangible representation of my life’s narrative. Whether or not it would ever be published, it didn’t matter. The act of writing it was fulfilling in itself.
And so, I continued to write, adding new chapters with each passing year. My memoir became an ongoing project, a testament to the ever-evolving nature of life. It became a reminder to embrace every moment, as every experience has the potential to shape us into who we are meant to be.
As I sit here today, reflecting on my journey and the book I’ve been writing for all these years, I realise that it has become more than just a collection of stories. It has become a part of me, a testament to the power of storytelling and the beauty of the human experience.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
