- Singapore -

The landing was so smooth it was barely perceptible. From his window seat, Keith Anderson looked wistfully through the window pane as the aeroplane rolled along the tarmac. The bleary dashes of light emanating from the runway and the airport terminal told him it was raining outside.

Despite his excitement at arriving in the Far East, Keith was rueful the flight had ended. He enjoyed long flights, especially when he was by himself. He couldn’t explain it – certainly not to his friends who considered any journey of over six hours in Sardine Class tantamount to torture. It had something to do with the familiarity of the airplane cabin, the soft reading light falling on his worn paperbacks, the muted chatter of passengers… But most of all he loved the solitude – the sense of isolation from the hurly-burly. College life was a relentless cycle of activities. He was in a perpetual rush from one place to another, with seminars to attend, deadlines to meet and people to greet along every corridor. Alone with just his books, long-haul flights presented him with the rare opportunity to reflect on the past and daydream about the future.

Singapore – how exotic, and how exciting! Fragments from stories his late Grandpa David had told him came to mind – stories he had heard as a child playing on a musty brown rug while the old man rocked in his chair, puffing billows of smoke as he spun yarns of seafarers and adventurers, warriors and princesses who inhabited the easternmost parts of the world. Singapore represented the sum of all that – a land steeped in legend and culture, a world of tropical jungles and spice harbours, but now transformed into a cosmopolitan city at the crossroads of East and West. Grandpa had said that he was Peranakan, a descendant of the Chinese who settled in the Malayan Straits and intermarried with the local people centuries ago. So Eastern blood ran in his veins, Keith mused. If nothing else, perhaps that explained the oriental hint in his eyes, the darker hair and complexion that suggested, even to the casual observer, that he was not a hundred percent white.

Until his late teens, he had not been too bothered by his appearance. Then came High School, with its social pressures and expectations: the need to fit in, to be popular, to be attractive to girls… He had become despondent when his gym regimen did little to improve his reedy frame; at that time, too, he had started to notice the subtle ways in which he looked different from his schoolmates, and in brief moments of self-pity, had resented his mixed parentage.

He liked to think he was past all that now, a rising senior at Yale with his life and all its possibilities before him. He mixed easily and had no lack of friends, even if none was particularly close to him. And yet he had a nagging sense of being apart, of being unable to fit in, regardless of the company he was in. Perhaps he was too bookish, too lost in his own ruminations. But there was more to it than that. It troubled him that his oriental roots still loomed so large in his psyche – he could not shake away the feeling that he would not truly find himself till he had at last set foot in Asia, to confront whatever vestiges of Eastern ancestry that for so long had been a distant siren call.

The chance to visit Asia had finally come when he received a summer travel grant to Singapore to work on his senior thesis, his chosen topic being the island’s pre-colonial history. Two grand was not a large sum, he told himself, but he was fortunate that his mom’s cousin had offered to put him up in Singapore.

The thesis meant something to him – more than he would perhaps admit. It was a chance for him to distinguish himself academically. He knew that his achievements so far had fallen short of his potential. Producing an outstanding thesis would set that right, would give him the recognition he deserved. But he knew it would not be easy.

As he waited for the elderly passenger next to him to extricate his luggage from the overhead cabin, Keith saw a young woman rise from her seat across the aisle, several rows in front. He would recognise Clarissa Lee anywhere, after spending a semester in his freshman year admiring her figure of womanly perfection from his seat near the rear of the lecture hall. He wondered how he had managed an "A" for Sociology; somehow, he had found extra motivation for that elective. Regretfully, he had found few opportunities to talk to her, apart from a few coursework-related conversations – enough, though, to detect a warm personality to match her poise and intellect. He had known she was from Singapore, of course, but he hadn’t expected she would be on the same flight.

‘Keith.’ He turned at the familiar voice from behind him. It was his soft-spoken but intense history seminar classmate, Lim Poh Chung (for that was how he preferred his name to be written, though it usually turned out as "Poh-Chung Lim"), who was making his way along the airplane aisle with his pull-along bag. Poh Chung had provided Keith with helpful advice regarding travel to Singapore – no chewing gum and absolutely no narcotics could be brought into the country, he had warned. Not that Keith was partial to either drugs or gum.

‘Hi Chung. That was a long flight wasn’t it? Phew, I don’t think I’ve ever flown for over twenty hours before…’

‘You’ve really got drive. Not many people would devote summer to a project. Aiming for the thesis prize, I suppose?’

The competitiveness in Poh Chung’s remark was not lost on Keith. It still disturbed him, but less so now than it had three years ago. Then, he had pipped Chung to top spot in a class quiz by a mark, and from the latter’s reaction one might have thought he’d been beaten to an Olympic gold medal.

‘Oh, come on. How many people would turn down a fully-sponsored vacation? I can’t disappoint Prof Rather, of course – not after he’s helped me get the research grant. He’s even put me in touch with a professor from Singapore’s National University.’ Keith thought of mentioning his curiosity about his Eastern heritage, but something held him back. This was strangely personal to him, and he seldom spoke of it.

‘Good luck,’ said Poh Chung. It was impossible to know what was going on in Poh Chung’s mind, behind the quiet, detached voice.

‘I hadn’t realised there were so many Singapore people at Yale,’ Keith remarked as he hauled his bag down from the overhead cabin.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, I know a few of you folks from Singapore now. There goes another…’ He gestured in Clarissa’s direction.

‘Ah, Clarissa. How do you know her?’

‘She was in one of my freshman classes.’

‘I see. And the Physics major you always hang out with – he’s Singaporean too.’

‘Vijay, you mean. Great chap. He’s promised to show me around town. I’ll be meeting him tomorrow, in fact. Care to join us?’

Poh Chung frowned. ‘I probably can’t make it,’ he said, before hastening to close the gap that had opened up in the stream of passengers headed for the exit.

Keith liked Singapore’s Changi airport. It reminded him of a mall near his hometown in Massachusetts, with its bright lights and attractive shops. Everywhere he turned, there were signs in several languages pointing to travelators, restrooms, drinking fountains and other amenities. And best of all, clearing customs was a breeze.

At the baggage collection point, he saw Clarissa again. She had collected a check-in piece and was waiting for another. Even after a long flight, she was a picture of effortless elegance – sandals, jeans and a short-sleeved blouse doing as much for her as would an elaborate evening gown. It took him a while to realise she was smiling at him.

‘Hi!’ Keith said, with a little more enthusiasm than he had intended.

‘Hey, what brings you to Singapore?’ she asked.

‘I’m here to do research for my senior thesis… Stuff related to the history of the Far East…’

‘Wow, that sounds interesting…’ Clarissa’s eyes were trained on the conveyor belt, and a moment later, she picked out her target, a large, metallic silver suitcase.

With a little effort, she scooped up her luggage while Keith was still in two minds as to whether to offer to help. ‘Have a great stay in Singapore – and good luck with your research!’ she said brightly.

And then she was gone. Keith wondered what transport she was taking, whether someone was picking her up, where she lived… But his own luggage had just emerged on the belt. Reluctantly, he turned back to the carousel.

Keith was amazed at how little time it took to reach his destination, an old bungalow along Siglap Road where his second cousin lived. He was tired from the long flight, but the novelty of the unfamiliar milieu kept him alert and strangely excited.

He added a two dollar tip to his fourteen dollar fare, wondering if that would suffice. The taxi driver seemed pleased, almost surprised. He rang the doorbell, and in a minute the door opened. Out stepped a well-groomed, smartly-attired Chinese man in his late twenties or early thirties.

‘Hi, you must be Keith,’ the man said, taking his hand in a firm handshake. ‘I’m Ken, but of course, you already knew that.’ His cousin grinned. They were joined in a moment by Ken’s wife Elisa, whose slender build and angular facial features reminded Keith of a younger Victoria Beckham.

The interior décor of the house was exotic and imposing, dark rosewood furniture set against tall oriental vases and standing screens with floral motifs. Deep-red cushions lined the traditional dark-wood settees atop a richly-woven carpet. Standing in a corner of the hall, next to a rosewood display cabinet, was a large wooden cupboard, ornately carved with gilded detailing. It was markedly different in style and appearance from the other furnishings: older, it seemed, and taller than the cabinet beside it. All in all, the room had presence, but it was altogether too sombre and heavy for Keith’s liking.

Keith presented his hosts with a box of Godiva chocolates he had brought over from the States. One could not go wrong with Godivas, he supposed, not even here in Singapore.

‘Thanks, but you really needn’t have brought anything,’ Ken said as he motioned for his guest to sit. Recalling that it was Asian practice to remove one’s shoes before entering a house, he did so quickly to avoid giving offence.

‘Elisa and I are sorry we weren’t able to pick you up from the airport,’ said Ken. ‘We were at an aunt’s birthday celebration. My parents were so disappointed they couldn’t meet you – they left for Europe just two days ago and won’t be back for a month. But not to worry, we’ll do our best to make sure you have a memorable stay in Singapore… right dear?’

‘Of course,’ Elisa said, draping an arm across Ken’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry – we’re not going to drag you around to all the usual tourist spots. We know you’re here to work, and you’ll want space to discover Singapore for yourself.’

‘Yeah. I’m here for three and a half weeks – that’s plenty of time to get around.’

‘What’s your project about?’ Elisa asked.

‘Trade patterns in Singapore’s early history, prior to the colonial period.’

‘Fascinating. How did you get into this field?’

‘To be honest, I don’t know – I’m starting from a blank slate. You see, my Grandpa David –’ He looked meaningfully at Ken, ‘was Peranakan. He used to tell me stories when I was a kid, about how Singapore was an important trading port long before the British came here. I’ve always been fascinated by the past – stories passed down through the ages, facts blended with fantasy… So much is written about Western civilisation, but I haven’t been able to find much on the maritime empires of the East. My other aim, again thanks to Grandpa, is to learn about my Peranakan roots.’

‘I’m sure my husband will be able to tell you all about that.’

Ken made a face. ‘Not at all, dear. All I know about Peranakan culture is the food – not much else!’

‘I heard that the Asian Civilisations Museum here has a Peranakan exhibition,’ Keith said. He was sure it was mentioned on Wikitravel or another online travel guide.

‘Yeah. The museum’s now entirely devoted to Peranakan heritage. It’s called the Peranakan Museum if I’m not mistaken. You should definitely check it out. I haven’t been there for quite some years now.’

‘Why don’t you show Keith the family porcelain, dear?’ Elisa suggested. ‘Your mum’s so proud of it.’

‘Yes, indeed!’ Ken brought him over to the display cabinet. He flicked a switch and the spotlights came on, illuminating two glass shelves of oriental porcelain, and below these another three shelves of exquisite figurines from around the world. The porcelain, evidently, had pride of place here: jars, bowls and saucers, mostly glazed in bright green and pink, though certain pieces were in yellow and pink.

‘You’ll see reproductions all over the place,’ Ken said, ‘but this stuff’s been passed down through the generations.’

‘Wow.’ Keith ran his eyes over the porcelain ware, taking in the recurrent floral and phoenix themes. They looked Chinese, but seemed to be from a different era. He was still curious about the intricately-carved cupboard that had caught his eye earlier, and decided to ask about it once he had given the porcelain sufficient polite attention. ‘If I may ask, is the cupboard over there Peranakan too?’

‘Absolutely!’ Ken confirmed, beaming. ‘I’m told it was part of my great-grandparents’ wedding trousseau. It’s my family’s most prized piece of antique furniture. Pity Mum isn’t around or she could tell you so much more. She’s really into these antiques.’

‘It’s beautiful!’ Keith exclaimed. ‘Crafted in such exquisite detail.’ He ran his eyes over the cupboard’s ornate carvings and motifs. The cupboard was certainly an impressive piece. Its upper body had two doors, each with gilded detailing under glass panels. His gaze traced floral patterns interwoven with images of men and beasts, as well as an oriental bird resembling a phoenix.

For a moment, the gargoyles had Keith transfixed as they stared at him through hideous, bulging eyes flanked by pointed ears. ‘What are those creatures supposed to be?’ he asked.

Ken shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Some kind of mystical beasts, I suppose… Would you believe they frightened me when I was a kid?’

‘Shame on you,’ Elisa quipped. ‘If I recall what your mum said, the old Babas believed that these creatures guarded the room against evil spirits.’

This seemed to be a common theme in oriental folklore, Keith thought, recalling a Thai friend pointing out a statue of a mythological lion outside an Asian restaurant and explaining that it guarded against malevolent forces in the spirit realm.

He heard a door slam shut, and felt a gust of wind tear through the old bungalow. Outside, it began to pour.

‘What dreadful weather!’ Elisa exclaimed. ‘Well, this is Singapore for you – one moment scorching hot, the next moment pouring like there’s no tomorrow.’ Stifling a yawn, she said, ‘It’s getting late and we really shouldn’t be keeping you up after a long flight.’ She handed Keith a bunch of keys, pointing out which were for the main door and gate. ‘Your room’s upstairs, first door to the left. If you need anything, just holler.’

Keith did not mind the storm at all. The humidity was beginning to get to him. With a smile and a murmur of appreciation, he began up the stairs with his luggage. On the landing, he stopped and turned. From this vantage point he took in the hall in all its oriental grandeur; Ken and Elisa on the settee talking, their backs towards him; and the antique cupboard in the corner of the room, two pairs of baleful eyes seeming to track his every movement.