17A Keong Saik Road

By Charmaine Leung

Mummy, why do you always have to leave for 17A…



17A Keong Saik Road recounts Charmaine Leung’s growing-up years on Keong Saik Road in the 1970s when it was a prominent red-light precinct in Chinatown in Singapore. An interweaving of past and present narratives, 17A Keong Saik Road tells of her mother’s journey as a young child put up for sale to becoming the madame of a brothel in Keong Saik. Unfolding her story as the daughter of a brothel operator and witnessing these changes to her family, Charmaine traces the transformation of the Keong Saik area from the 1930s to the present, and through writing, finds reconciliation.

A beautiful dedication to the past, to memory, and to the people who have gone before us, 17A Keong Saik Road tells the rich stories of the Ma Je, the Pei Pa Zai, and the Dai Gu Liong—marginalised, forgotten women of the past, who despite their difficulties, persevered in working towards the hope of a better future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ethos Books
• Release date: Apr 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9789811414930

Book preview

17A Keong Saik Road

17A Keong Saik Road

© Charmaine Leung, 2017

ISBN 978-981-11-3066-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-981-14-1493-0 (E-book)

Published under the imprint Ethos Books

by Pagesetters Services Pte Ltd

#06-131 Midview City

28 Sin Ming Lane

Singapore 573972

www.ethosbooks.com.sg

The publisher reserves all rights to this title.

Except for the quotation of short passages for the purpose of criticism and review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The work herein refers to and discusses historical matters in connection with a Singapore location and does not, and should not be construed in any way as referring to or creating any association with the current owners, tenants, occupants, customers, visitors or their related affiliates and any such express statement or imputation is disclaimed. This work documents a past which is no longer linked to the present, except as a matter of historical record.

Cover design by Jessica Kusuma

Photos of Keong Saik Road on the cover by Charmaine Leung

Sketches in the book by Tan Lee Song

Layout and design by Word Image Pte Ltd

Printed by Ho Printing Singapore Pte Ltd

3 4 5 6 21 20 19 18

First published under this imprint in 2017

Typeface: Fanwood

Material: 70gsm Prima Antique Cream Bulk

National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Name(s): Leung, Charmaine.

Title: 17A Keong Saik Road / Charmaine Leung.

Description: Singapore : Ethos Books, [2017]

Identifier(s): OCN 982199286 | ISBN 978-981-11-3066-3 (pbk) | ISBN 978-981-14-1493-0 (ebk)

Subject(s): LCSH: Chinatown (Singapore)—Anecdotes. | Chinese--Singapore—Anecdotes. | Women foreign workers--Singapore—Anecdotes. | Red-light districts--Singapore—Anecdotes.

Classification: DDC 959.57004951--dc23

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17A Keong Saik Road

To Mummy,

and all the amazing women in my life

who gave me the courage to tell this story

1

AFTER MAKING SOME detours, I turned the corner and finally saw the old-school Cantonese family restaurant on Seng Poh Lane. Having left for Hong Kong for almost fifteen years now, everything in Singapore had changed.

There was a feeling that Singapore had arrived. When I left in 1997, Singapore had a population of only two-and-a-half million people. Setting foot on this island again, I returned to a country that had not only doubled in her population size, but whose make-up had gone through a change.

I noticed people in Singapore walked, spoke, and ate a lot faster. The once slower-paced, sleepier vibe of Singapore had disappeared. Getting lost in the train interchanges was a common occurrence for me. The MRT system that once featured only the uncomplicated linear North-South and East-West lines in the 1990s now sprawled the entire island, and extended into suburban heartlands with names of places I did not know.

One in four people who resided here were foreigners. They lived and interacted with the local community, building their nests in this little city state they now call home. The country looked visibly different. Entire blocks—many of which I have never seen—had sprung up on reclaimed land, featuring iconic architectural designs that formed Singapore’s new modern skyline along its marina. At times, as I navigated the streets of Singapore, I identified more with the tourist, feeling like a foreigner in my own country.

I remembered feeling both apprehension and excitement when I was handed the boarding pass at the airport on the day I moved back to Singapore. Am I ready for Singapore? What am I going back for? I pondered these questions as I looked out at the layers of clouds in the horizon from my window seat on the plane. The uneven patches of white seemed to echo my unsettled feelings. Unlike most people who relocated for a job opportunity with an intent to eventually return to their home country, venturing to Hong Kong in 1997 was my way of walking away from my old life in search of a new one. I had not planned on returning. I neither consumed news on Singapore, nor kept up with what went on in the country. I simply left Singapore behind, and embraced living in another place. Singapore must be so different now, will I be able to fit back in?

I had returned at a time when Singapore had brilliantly moulded herself to welcome the future. It was a picture-perfect Singapore illustrating the advancement and achievements she had made over the years. The new Singapore was everything a person living in a modern city could ask for. I was impressed by all her developments—well-designed malls, luscious greenery in well-sculpted parks, art museums of high international standards, a comprehensive transportation system—and enjoyed the variety and conveniences they brought. Yet it was also a different Singapore.

It was about 7pm. Business at the restaurant was surprisingly quiet for a Sunday evening. I had managed to get a reservation for a table in the air-conditioned section of the restaurant. When I stepped inside, the first thing that greeted me was the familiar savoury aroma of Chinese cooking, and it reminded me of home. The smell, accompanied by the sounds of food stir-frying in a wok, brought back memories of the delicious, mouth-watering home-cooked food I used to enjoy as a child, bringing a smile to my face. The nostalgic ambience of the restaurant was reminiscent of an old shophouse in Keong Saik Road—the home where I had grown up in.

It was easy to spot her. She was just as I had remembered her to be. Except for a few additional fine lines on her forehead, she had not changed at all. She still had that head of jet-black hair which framed her oval face, and those large eyes that could speak volumes. I felt a pang of remorse as I looked at her. Why did I let those years pass and not get in touch? What was I thinking? There, sitting at a table by the side of the small restaurant, beaming at me broadly, was my Je Je. A lady I had spent much of my childhood with, but had not seen at all in the last two decades. Je Je, which means elder sister in Cantonese, was exactly that to me.

Je, how are you? I started towards her shyly, and greeted her with the simplest of all greetings.

I am very well. Come, sit down. How are you? Je Je responded with a big smile.

I am very well too. Suddenly, I felt at a loss for words.

What have you been up to all these years? It must have been at least fifteen years since we last met!

Almost twenty… And I was away in Hong Kong for about fifteen years. I only came back to Singapore three years ago, I replied sheepishly, and added, sorry, I did not get in touch until now.

Don’t be silly. It’s good you got in touch. I was so surprised to see a message from you on Facebook the other day. I could not believe it was you!

I was trying my luck, thankfully I managed to find you, otherwise I wouldn’t know how to locate you. I’ve only got your old pager number! That must belong in a museum now.

Hahaha… yes. I think I still have your pager number too. We laughed at my mention of those old pagers we used to be so proud to own. Je Je added, I tried to call you some years back, but your home number was no longer in use.

We moved and changed our number. Shortly after that, I moved to Hong Kong.

How is your mum? She must be in her seventies by now, right? Did she move with you?

Yes, she is seventy-seven this year. She is healthy and well, thank you for asking. She visited me in Hong Kong a lot, but never moved there.

Wow, fifteen years in Hong Kong! You must have really enjoyed your time there. I remember how much you liked Hong Kong when you were a kid, you always wanted to go there. Je Je recalled.

Je, that was just for holidays! I did not expect to end up working in Hong Kong eventually, and never thought I would live there for so many years. It was not planned, it just happened.

* * *

I moved to Hong Kong two days before my father’s seventh death anniversary in February 1997. The opportunity to work overseas provided me the excuse to leave Singapore, but deep down inside, it was my restless quest for something more that prompted my departure. I settled in easily, and began my new life with the excitement of a little girl who had just walked into a candy shop. At twenty-four, everything about Hong Kong invigorated me. I was entranced by the energy of Hong Kong. It was even better than I had imagined it to be. Gone was the child who had to listen to the instructions of my parents, I was now a spirited young lady in control of my own life. I was free to decide what was best for me. Although it was the first time I lived on my own, I experienced no anxiety about taking care of myself or being on my own. My newfound independence was liberating, and I thrived on the buzz of Hong Kong’s fast-paced life.

It was an interesting time to be in Hong Kong. The mood was electrifying. Worried Hongkongers who were anxious about Hong Kong’s handover to China and could afford to emigrate had left. Those who remained, either by choice or circumstance, were generally counting down to the handover with cautious optimism. As a foreigner who had arrived at this timely turn of history, I enjoyed the many perks brought on by the winds of change due to the transition. Many days of public holidays unique to 1997—English holidays before July, and Chinese holidays after July—were added to the work calendar of that year. There was an overall jubilant and celebratory atmosphere in the air with everyone in expectant cheer.

Work was exciting. I travelled to many countries, and met many people from diverse cultures. These work trips vastly broadened my once-myopic view of the world, allowing me to experience a whole dimension of endless novel adventures. I was having the time of my life. I savoured the exhilaration that new experiences in an unknown country brought, and relished in meeting other kindred spirits in my ‘new-to-Hong Kong’ journey, building lasting friendships that withstood the test of time.

My relationship with my mother became more amicable. I would pick up the telephone and call her just to ask about the ingredients needed to make a soup. I genuinely missed her and spoke to her because I wanted to hear her voice.

Two years went by. Then, it was five. Before I knew it, I was celebrating a ‘Decade-nce’ party in Hong Kong. There were many parties to go to, and numerous friends to meet up with. My life was extremely busy and fun-filled, and envied by many of my less outgoing friends.

There was no doubt it was in the years which I spent living and working in Hong Kong that many positive changes happened in my life. But after the parties and the fun, in the quiet of the night, I continued to experience a void. It was an indescribable, unspeakable hollowness that gnawed at my insides. Some days, when I was on my own, it was more evident. Other days, when I was with people, or sucked into the busyness of everyday living, it became masked by the bustling distractions around me. But inadvertently, it was always at times when I experienced peaks of happiness and success—surrounded by my close friends, or after a hard-earned big promotion—that I found myself experiencing a deep sense of emptiness. It was that same emptiness and sadness I had felt so many years ago when I was alone in my walled city, back in Keong Saik Road.

Back in that shophouse when I was five.

I was a little child constantly yearning for my mother, and wanting nothing but her love. The sense of desolation and helplessness was real and unmistakable, heightened further by my fear of the dark. When nightfall came, I would not go close to the corridor that led to the wall that separated me from my mother because I was paranoid about imaginary monsters lurking in the dark. Light only came through that corridor if there was a light in the kitchen or the adjacent room. My mother was always on the other side. Always at 17A Keong Saik Road where she ran a brothel business. Standing at the kitchen window directly opposite from 15A where I lived with a nanny, my mother would hear my pleas for her to come put me to bed. But she seldom made it over, and I would be disappointed again and again.

* * *

Sitting there, Je Je and I looked like two friends, meeting up and having a casual chat with each other over dinner. Onlookers could not have imagined this was a reunion of two sisters after two decades of separation, reliving the adventures of our childhood, and filling in the gaps of those years when we were apart. This lady sitting in front of me now was such an integral part of my early life. Without her, I would have been a much sadder child fending for myself in an adult’s world.

Like a sweeping wind, twenty years had flown by without us realising. We had lost so much precious time that we could have spent with each other. I am so glad we reconnected, I do not want to lose you again. I thought to myself as I sat there with my Je Je reminiscing the years in Keong Saik.

2

IN DECEMBER 1938, in a rural village in Selangor in West Malaysia, a baby girl named Koon was born to a family. Koon was the third and youngest girl born into this family—a family that could scarcely afford to have any children.

The head of the family, Deng, was a labourer in his thirties. He worked hard in the farm from dawn till dusk every day, but could barely make ends meet. There was never enough money to feed his family. Despite the hardship and lack of money, Deng was a traditional man who firmly believed that he had to have a son to continue his lineage. He had a stern look on his face all the time and never smiled. That, coupled with his quick temperament, made him an ominous figure. Everyone in the family obeyed him, and no one dared to cross him. He demanded his wife to continue bearing him children until they had a son. A submissive woman who complied unquestioningly with her husband, his poor wife kept giving birth in pursuit of a son, even though she knew having more children would increase their destitution. Yet child after child, Deng was disappointed.

When Koon was born, Deng had all but lost interest in yet another daughter. He took a cursory look at his new child, and barely acknowledged her arrival to his family. His lack of interest in daughters was not helped by the fact that Koon was a plain-looking baby. Koon was thin and sallow, with a constant grim expression on her face—just like her father. That Koon most resembled Deng physically among all his children did nothing for a father who did not want another daughter. He always found something to be testy with her, and Koon was clearly his least favourite. What Koon did not have in looks, she made up in her demeanour. As if she could feel the weight of her fate bearing on her from the first day of her birth, Koon was the easiest little one to care for. With her, there were no midnight cries or feverish fits so commonly experienced by young babies. Koon never added any burden to her weary mother.

Three years later, Koon’s mother gave birth to a boy. Deng had finally gotten his long-awaited son, yet this was hardly the time to be joyous about having another mouth to feed. War was just around the corner, and the addition of another child made what was already a difficult situation at home even more challenging. The arrival of a son brought some semblance of happiness into Deng’s home, but a mood of uneasiness lingered in the air. For Deng, the joy of having a son to continue his family’s lineage only temporarily masked his larger worries of having to provide for his big family.

Koon, however, embraced the new addition to the family wholeheartedly, and enjoyed her role as the older sister. Koon was eager to be her mother’s little helper as her mother went about her daily household chores, with her baby brother strapped on her back. Each day, Koon would trail her mother, following her wherever she went just to catch glimpses of her little brother. Whenever her mother put her brother down on the bed to take a break from carrying him, Koon would mimic her mother, humming a tune to put him to sleep. Koon loved watching over her brother while he slept. She was happy to have a younger brother in the house as her older sisters were always away helping their father in the farm. Now, she had a little person to play with her.

Mama, let me help you with the baby… Koon would always offer.

Now, aren’t you the loving big sister? Her mother smiled indulgently at Koon. She was so fond of this daughter. Compared to her other children, Koon had a gentleness and kindness about her that made her more endearing than her elder sisters. Whatever Koon had, she always shared with her siblings. She was always thinking of others, before she thought of herself.

Life was hard, but Koon was happy. She felt blessed that she still had her whole family around her. Some of the neighbouring families had to split up with their fathers because there was no work in the village and the men had to leave for the city to look for jobs. They were lucky Deng still had some work to do in the farms. Koon loved her mother dearly, and preferred helping her mother with chores at home than working in the farms like her elder siblings. She was contented as long as she could stay close to her mother, and alleviate her mother’s daily burden of taking care of the family. Koon would do anything for her mother.

Gradually, Koon noticed there was less and less food on the table with each meal. Her distant father also became more intimidating with each passing day. In earlier times, Deng would just ignore her, but now, he was easily irritated and always in a foul mood. Koon always bore the brunt of his angry outbursts. Afraid to enrage him, everyone in the family tiptoed around him. The frown between her mother’s brows deepened as the days went by. She was always sighing. A few times, Koon had even caught her mother sobbing when she thought no one was looking. Despite her young age, Koon knew her parents were constantly worried about the lack of money.

One night, when Koon was about eight years old, she overheard her father speaking to her mother in the quiet of the night.

We can’t keep all of them, we have to let at least one go. We don’t have a choice, we have to do it. Koon heard Deng say. There was a pause, and he continued, The older girls can start to find some work in the city soon, and if we have to pick one to give away, I think we should get rid of Koon.

What are you suggesting? Get rid of our daughter? Are you mad? How could you think of such a thing?! exclaimed her mother.

Koon is really the best choice. She is so plain-looking, she won't be able to find a good husband when she grows up. She will become a burden to us even when she grows older. We are better off without her.

But she’s our daughter after all, how can you say it like you don’t care at all? Koon is such a good girl. How can we give her away just like that? Where would she end up? Have you thought about what would happen to her?

Wherever she ends up, she would be better off than with us here. We can’t afford to keep her, Deng insisted.

"Koon is the one who’s most attached to me… I really don’t want to