50th Anniversary in 50 Words

50^th Anniversary in 50 words.

The headline sounds like a promotional offer to entice ‘customers’ to patronize a cause actually came about during a conversation with my co-admin and ex-NB friend, Chan Peew, who for a while has been asking me to pen experiences of growing up in NB, especially this being the 50^th Anniversary of the British pull-out.  I hesitate, elaborating, “Although I wrote a biography, I can’t write mine, cause, like doctors, I am, unable to cure my own sickness”.

 We haggle and that’s when the theme 50^th Anniversary in 50 words. bounces. He agrees to the suggestion and I realize that often friends are sounding boards and well-spring of ideas.

Sweet Nothings

 One day, I meet an old friend, who enquires how I spend my retirement.  I answer light-heartedly, “I like to think, I'm not retired but- unemployable- because, only the well-off can afford to retire”. He isn’t amused, and sensing he enquired to prepare for his impending retirement, I assure him my days are spent productively doing sweet nothings, like reading, listening to oldies, chatting with a new- found New Zealander neighbor, going for walks, visiting FB, B2B and dealing with a lot of misses: like misplaced items; missing destinations; mistaking, misnaming, etc., etc.

That’s when the idea to write sweet nothings springs and convinces me that friends are truly a fountain of ideas. I tell myself I should not miss this chance to please Peew by writing sweet nothings.

 I hope members too, will please share your sweet nothings in 50 words or more and please Peew!  And hope this saying encourages you: “ the most difficult ideas to think of, are the simple ideas!” (can’t remember who said it).

A Big Celebration?

 But I do remember, when I was six or seven, Mr. Mari Muthu, a soft -spoken soul who worked in NB Hospital, telling me that the day I was born there was a ‘big celebration’. He couldn’t recall the actual occasion*. Though I took it for granted, my family was celebrating the birth of their first male.

Rocking 50s

During the 50s and swinging 60s, when the world was on a roll with Elvis and- “yeah”- the Beatles invasion, I was growing up in the sprawling Hospital grounds among 11 families, and a Gang of 55  hyper-active kids; girl or boy, was game for innocent adventure and took part in the scheme of things, not for want of males. After-all, we were the Baby Boomers, before the campaign to: “Stop at 2! Girl or Boy!”, kicked-in, and the nation screwed itself, suffering from declining births. 

  The Baby Boomers, enabled three families to easily  make-up two five- a-side soccer teams. We believed in fair play and decisions were made by consensus. However, neighborliness was kicked out of the window, from the moment of kick-off.

Whatever the pastime, we indulged with care-free abandon, late into the evening.  As twilight set in, we were often summoned by repeated calls, turning hoarse, from mothers, which seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Simon, The Templar

 However, when the sound-track from the The Saint pierced through the crevices of our planked homes, all events came to a standstill. This was prearranged. So, The Templar underscored the result: win, lose or draw.

The Saint was a huge draw, televised during prime time in the 60s.

*(Decades later I Google and find that I was born on Hari Raya Puasa! I am overjoyed! And understand the reason for the ‘big celebration’.