“Love is patient, kind, does not envy, does not boast, is not arrogant or rude, does not insist on its own way, is not irritable or resentful, bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things; endures all things. Love never ends.” This quote is from 1 Corinthians 13:4-8.
I often recall my first crush, a Chinese girl, during my time in Primary Five at an upriver school while she was in Primary Six at a town school.
During Christmas of 1966, I was elated, but our flirtatious affair was short-lived. When school reopened a week later, she had to return to her own school because my uncle, who was a teacher there, and my aunt were moving to St. Peter’s Primary School in Saratok town.
“You and the Chinese girl seemed to get along well during last Christmas,” Aunt Chaya remarked when she and her husband Jiram returned to the longhouse for the first term school holiday in 1967. At the time, I was 13 and in Primary Six.
The Chinese girl and I continued to communicate through letters. We exchanged at least two letters since January 1967. I was looking forward to meeting her again during the April 1967 school break, but she didn’t join Uncle Jiram and Aunt Chaya at the longhouse. Her letters indicated that she had started Form One at Saratok Secondary School.
Our correspondence ceased around September that year. We never exchanged photos or souvenirs, and the few well-written letters were the only reminders.
By the time I enrolled in Form One at the same secondary school (which was the only one in Saratok at the time), I had nearly forgotten about her. When we met as schoolmates, the flame had almost extinguished.
We exchanged a few words during the first month of my Form One days, but over the four years we spent together in school, we seemed to grow apart. She never seemed to have a boyfriend and was one of the school prefects, while I had a few short-lived flings with girls, including two Chinese girls. In Saratok, we practiced the concept of “One Malaysia” long before former Prime Minister Najib introduced it, thanks to the prevalence of the Iban language as the lingua franca. It was quite common to hear Chinese or Malay parents scolding their children in Iban. Later, my two Chinese girlfriends spoke Iban better than some city Iban kids. Even the aforementioned Chinese girl had a good command of the language, as her mother had mixed Iban and Chinese heritage.
We met again many years later, and I was glad to see that she was happily married to an Iban from Saratok. They were both working at a hospital in the state. During those years, I remained single and had a few girlfriends, including an Indian girl from Taiping, a Malay girl from the Kelantan royal family, and one or two Chinese girls from Penang. There were also flirtations with Korean and Canadian exchange students at Universiti Sains Malaysia in Penang. These experiences were all thanks to my involvement in music and the arts, including painting, drawing, and photography.
In my immediate family, I have a niece happily married to a Malay from Simanggang, and a first cousin married to an Indian from Johor. Both marriages have produced many children. I also have a cousin whose wife is an Orang Ulu, and a few cousins whose husbands are Indians, including one who hails from Benares (aka Varanasi), India. These marriages have stood the test of time. All the Indian husbands, including the one from Benares, speak fluent Iban. One of them, who was formerly from Seremban and was closest to me, passed away in 2004 at the age of 55. The children resemble Indians more than Ibans, but they don’t speak a word of Malayalam.
Once, the Johorean husband of my first cousin knocked on the door of our bilik (room) in Kedap, Saratok. It was around 4 am, but my brother Jon was still awake after his fishing trip. When he opened the door, he couldn’t see anyone as the veranda light was off. However, he recognized our cousin-in-law, Morgan, when he addressed my brother in his Indian-Iban slang. Morgan’s car had encountered a problem, and he needed some help. He mentioned that he and his wife (our first cousin) were heading to Bintangor, where they were teaching at the time. They have since returned to Johor, their home state, along with their wife and three grown-up children.
Mixed marriages are very common in Malaysian society. Through schools and tertiary institutions, we have been exposed to the multi-racial and multi-cultural aspects of our society, and as a result, we have learned to embrace pluralism.
Recently, I had the privilege of being the emcee for a holy matrimony between an Iban from Sibu and a Dayak Selako from Lundu. Interestingly, in the same hotel, my grandniece had her wedding reception a year earlier. Her husband comes from a mixed Iban-Kedazan background. Moreover, back in 2014, I also had the opportunity to emcee a marriage reception at the same venue. The groom was of mixed parentage (Iban father and Indian-Iban mother), while the bride was an Iban Remun. These mixed marriages have become quite common nowadays, thanks to the open-mindedness of Malaysian society, particularly in Sarawak.
In Saratok, I have a cousin affectionately known as Ujang (who has since passed away) and he was married to a Filipina for a considerable period. Their eldest son has graduated from a local university, which speaks volumes about a marriage that has lasted nearly thirty years. Interestingly, my Filipino cousin-in-law now speaks Saratok Iban, emphasizing the ‘o’ sound in words that end with ‘a’. Ujang’s elder sister is happily settled in Glasgow, Scotland, with her English husband and two grown-up children, one of whom is a medical doctor.
I have a close friend who graduated from a university in the United States and brought back an American-African bride, much to the shock and disapproval of his very traditional and conservative Iban parents. Although the marriage was childless, it lasted for over a decade before the wife sadly left and never returned.
Currently, my eldest stepson is dating a girl of mixed parentage (Chinese father and Filipino mother). However, she speaks more English than Tagalog or Foochow and occasionally speaks Iban to my wife, thanks to her many Iban friends from her previous school.
It’s difficult to predict who will become one’s life partner. I could have married any girl in Malaysia, regardless of their background. She could have been a wealthy Foochow whose family owned the first plastic company in Sibu, a beautiful Melanau whose father served as Sarawak Governor twice, a less fortunate individual from a Sibu longhouse, a princess from Kelantan, or even the Chinese-Iban crush I had on Christmas Day in 1966. However, fate had other plans, and I ended up marrying my fellow Ibans — firstly, a fifth cousin, and later, an ex-student who is 17 years younger than me.
In conclusion, I want to emphasize once again, despite it being said countless times in the past, love is truly blind to the colors of our skin and many other factors.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
