“The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him, he is always doing both.”
James A. Michener (1907-1997). Regarded as one of the most popular and influential American authors of the 20th century, he was known for his epic historical novels that were often meticulously researched and spanned generations, exploring the history, culture, and geography of various regions and time periods.
“I refuse to work myself to death,” Uncle Tong declared.
I was just a little kid, so what he said did not make sense to me. I saw a lot of people working long and hard, but no one ever died from it. And I told Uncle Tong so.
“Kid, what I mean is, I refuse to work more than necessary,” Uncle Tong continued.
“I still don’t understand,” I said.
Patiently, he explained that since he could work half a day each day to feed himself, he saw no need to work a full day every day.
“And if I work a full day, I expect double the benefit,” he said.
“How do you know half a day is enough?”
“By trial and error,” he said. “Two years ago, I tried four hours a day — from 8 o’clock to 12 noon. Not enough … I added one more hour.”
“Till one o’clock?”
“No. I started earlier — seven o’clock. I refused to work after lunch.”
“Did it work?”
“Sort of. Eventually, I started at six o’clock.”
“Wow! That’s too early for me and for many people.”
“That was what I thought, at first. But then I got a lot done in four hours before the sun got too hot.”
“You have no clock. How do you know when to wake up?”
“See that hill over there?”
“Yes.”
“When the sun peeks over those trees, it’s eight o’clock. Six o’clock is when the sky glows but the sun is not visible. It took me less than a week to get my time right without any clock.”
“Do you go to bed early, uncle?”
“Between nine and ten o’clock. I wake up between four and five every morning,” he said.
“And you’ve never been late?”
“Never. I wake up automatically around the same time except when I do not feel well.”
“What do you do after lunch?”
“Take a nap. One hour is more than enough. After that, I check on whatever needs some maintenance. Otherwise, I do whatever makes me happy.”
This was in the early 1960s when I was in elementary school. I was a pesky kid who asked too many questions. Not many adults tolerated my presence.
When I visited him on his farm that day, Uncle Tong was sitting on a low wooden stool counting the ears of maize that he harvested the day before. He was always counting things, especially things that he produced on his farm.
His nickname “Tong” was derived from the word “ngitong” which, in Bukar-Sadong, a sub-dialect of the Bidayuh language spoken in the Serian District, means count or counting.
Uncle Tong was irritatingly calculative, always reducing things around him to numbers, but not just any numbers. He liked even numbers, especially those with zeros.
For example, he would keep 50 sacks of rice, 500 stalks of corn, 20 clumps of cassava, 10 jars of durian paste, 10 jars of preserved fish, 50 smoked fish, etc.
I asked him why and he said it was to keep his calculations as simple as possible.
“You know I didn’t finish primary school,” he said. “Counting small numbers is not hard, but it gets complicated when there are more and more things to count.”
“My father said you don’t need to count everything,” I said.
“If I don’t count, how would I know how much or how many things I have?” he said. I didn’t have any answer to that.
He was not only unusual in that sense. He had a peculiar work ethic too. Though not lazy, he harboured a belief that one should not toil incessantly until the end of days.
That was why he approached his tasks with careful calculation. I noticed this over time as I grew up hanging out with him quite a lot, especially on his farm where he had a ‘kedondong’ tree (Ambarella or Otaheite apple in English) and a few citrus trees whose fruits were sour but great to eat with hot ‘sambal belacan’.
I am not ashamed to admit that there were times when we felt mischievous, my little brother (Little B) and I pretended to be on a fishing escapade as an excuse to visit his farm to enjoy his fruits.
Not willing to work more than he needed to, but recognising the necessity of labour for sustenance, Uncle Tong meticulously tracked his consumption of food — rice, cassava, potatoes, corn, vegetables, poultry, eggs, and more — per meal, per day, per week, per month, and year.
For those items defying easy calculation, he conducted experiments to refine his estimates from year to year or from season to season.
Naturally, Uncle Tong’s behaviour did not endear him to many people. My parents said that was why his girlfriend of two years rejected him. She called him a cheapskate because he often went to great lengths to avoid spending money, even when it was necessary or beneficial.
The negative talk about him made me confused because he was always kind to me. It took me quite a while to understand him and see his point of view on life in general.
True, he was tight-fisted, but according to him, it was because he wanted his income to be slightly more than his needs in case of emergencies or unexpected hard times.
He told me about a time when his family lived through a spell of famine as a child and the memory of it still haunted him. Hunger scared the hell out of him and he swore never again to go to bed on an empty stomach unless it was a deliberate choice.
And so, through his methodical approach, he produced enough food to meet his needs with a little surplus to sell for additional income. With time, experimentation, and some trial and error, he optimised his efforts, affording himself ample time for rest and leisure.
In time, several of his fellow villagers marvelled at his apparent prosperity, achieved with seemingly less effort than their own.
He exuded an air of relaxation and contentment that eluded those who toiled much harder.
In matters of the heart, he was fortunate for he eventually found another woman who understood him well. They got married and he adjusted his routines to accommodate her needs, integrating her consumption into his calculations.
Balancing their joint needs with their combined labour required more than simply doubling their previous inputs and outputs.
Yet, with careful adjustments, they carved out a comfortable existence within the constraints of our remote agricultural community.
Over the years, whenever I was tempted to be lax with my money, the memory of Uncle Tong would come to the fore as if accusing me of being weak and wasteful.
During those times when I spent quite a bit of my youth hanging out on his farm, I did not realise that I soaked some of life’s useful lessons from the eccentric man.
It was only years later when the hardship of adulthood visited me from time to time that I paid more attention to those lessons, especially his emphasis on harmony and balance in work and life in general.
All his life he rejected the notion of relentless toil and instead advocated for a measured, calculated approach to labour. He always spoke about moderation and avoidance of excess, prioritising contentment over endless striving.
I don’t pretend to have been successful in emulating his lifestyle fully. He was such an unusual man, extremely hard and unyielding in many ways while I am more spontaneous and do not lead an overly structured and orderly life.
The artistic side of me is quite chaotic with my thoughts often swirling aimlessly from thinking too much. But I get by quite well because my wife, who is more sensible and down-to-earth, helps to keep my feet on the ground.
Whatever Uncle Tong’s faults were in the eyes of his contemporaries, I respected and admired his commitment to moral virtues such as responsibility and stewardship.
He strove to minimise waste and optimise his efforts, demonstrating respect for the resources available to him and a desire to live in harmony with the natural world.
His willingness to adapt and accommodate his wife’s needs also showcased moral values like compassion, cooperation, and flexibility in interpersonal relationships.
The physical setting of the remote agricultural village and Uncle Tong’s engagement with the land underscored his importance on practical, tangible aspects of life.
His careful cultivation of food reflected the physical labour required for survival in such an environment, as well as the ingenuity and resourcefulness necessary to thrive in challenging conditions.
As words flow on my computer screen, I realise that I am looking at Uncle Tong’s story as a kind of connection between the physical realm and the philosophical and moral dimensions of human existence, highlighting the interplay between actions in the material world and the deeper values and beliefs.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
