Archive for November, 2011

Open Sesame! Open Sesame!” Uncle Li called out loudly at the doorstep last Sunday morning.

He had in his hands, two bags of books.

My children were aroused from their sleep; they quickly jumped up from their beds and rushed out to see what the hullabaloo was all about.

“Uncle Li?”

Of course they were taken aback with what they saw.

“Your mommy always complained that both of you are playing too much online games; so here are some books to help keep you fellows away from the screen!” he was grinning wickedly at them, with some mischief in his eyes.

Among the books in the bags are “Oliver Twist” by Charles Dickens and “The Adventures of The Secret Seven” by Enid Blyton. There are also several other books to improve their general knowledge. Altogether there were about sixteen of them.

“These books are from my own collection, so you better take good care of them!” he told Nicholas and Alexandra, who were delighted with their sudden good fortune.

The year-end seven weeks school holidays are here again. Just as I was figuring out how my children are going to spend their holidays in a meaningful way, here come my savior.

Uncle was god-send. Now I don’t have to worry of going to the public library anymore. I couldn’t thank him enough. At least my children have something else to occupy them other than “War-craft”, “Angry Birds” and Facebook.

I was very delighted. This is awesome! Very cool indeed!

Gone are the days when children loved to play outdoor games or enjoy the simple pleasure of reading an interesting storybook in a little quiet corner during school holidays.

Schooling, tuition and homework took up most of their time.

Their only past time is to play computer. Most of them are computer geeks. Yes, computers are their lives. Online games and Facebook are their daily diet.

Personally, I have nothing against computers. I needed them too, to do my writing, to network with friends and to catch up with the current news.

But the problem with modern technologies is that they robbed our children of their innocence and childhood.

Everywhere I went to, I saw children, some as young as five or six, busy sending sms on their ipads or playing games on them.

Can you see children today talk less, write less and read less? I have encountered some who are very remote from the adults, their parents included.

I certainly would not allow this to happen to my children. I wanted them to be able to communicate with us effectively and coherently.

Call me an old-fashioned mom if you like. Or say that I am not trendy enough, I don’t care. I think there is a limit to what my children can have.

Although many of their classmates already have their mobiles or ipads, I have yet to get these for them. I don’t intend to at all. I only got them an iphone to share. Maybe I will get them a camera someday soon. They loved photography too.

Like many parents, I have a hard time with my children whenever they planted themselves in front of the computer. Once they are there, you can’t tear them away.

In the end, I have to put a password into the computer. They needed my permission to get start on a game. I also put an alarm clock next to it so that when their playing time is up, it will ring like mad and made them jump up from their seats.

Extreme measures, yes, for geeks like them. But it works well for me.

Although some of you might think it was a bit late for teenagers like Nicholas and Alexandra to read Charles Dickens or Enid Blyton (I read them in primary schools), but you can be a grown up and still enjoy such books. Good books are timeless.

So, for this long holiday, my children and I will spend our time reading story books together, looking up new words and brushing up on spelling. Good bonding time for the children and I.

I really have Uncle  Li to thank for this treat.

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My Mom left this world very suddenly; without a word of goodbye, on the night of November 24th 2000, at 8.30 pm while Dad and I was having dinner in the kitchen.

It was a day after Dad’s 80th birthday and two days after their 50th wedding anniversary which we did not celebrate due to her illness.

Hearing her groaning softly on the sofa, we threw down the bowls and chopsticks, rushed out to see her but….it was too late.

She was gone in less than ten minutes, even before I could finish making a call for an ambulance to come fetch her to hospital.

Mom died from heart attack, as a result of being overloaded with saline water from dialysis and blood transfusion she received from the hospital that evening.

It came so unexpectedly that it left us in a state of total shock and disbelief. Gazing down at the lifeless body of someone you loved so very deeply, while outside, the world still moves on, it was so surreal and scary.

The sudden feeling of loneliness and emptiness within our hearts; and the hollowness that engulfed the house was very frightening.

I broke down and trembled with sobs while Dad grimaced with sorrow.

Only an hour ago, on the way home from the hospital, she was still with me, telling me to get new curtains for the house as the new year is fast approaching, and now she was no more.

“How can this happened, surely this can’t be true?” my brain kept asking again and again.

But it’s true. Mom had left us. Nothing in the world could bring her back to life or to us.

We cried and cried. We wailed and wailed. That night was very long and time stood still.

The residential area we stayed in was very quiet and dark as everyone had retired indoors. Not a soul to be seen on the road.

Stray dogs were howling from a far distance and gushes of cold wind-swept into the hall from the hills facing our row of houses.

Mom’s face was lifeless but her eyes were closed and her lips curved into a slight smile. She looked like someone in a deep and restful sleep. We covered her with a blanket and waited for day light to break.

Where her soul had gone to, I kept wondering sadly. I sat beside her until dawn came.

We went through the next two days in grim. Prayers from the nuns, words of condolences from friends and relatives, watching her face for the last time before her body was sealed away forever and put into the furnace.

The thought that we could not get to see her again made me mad with grief. Dad was teary. It was one of the saddest days in our lives.

After the funeral, we gathered at Dad’s house. The atmosphere was haunting. The sky was gloomy and dark. As dark as the mourning clothes we were wearing. We cleared her room and her things and packed them away. It was raining heavily outside for hours until evening when the sky finally cleared up.

Then everyone left, leaving Dad alone in the house.

This is just not right! How can he be left alone when he had just lost his partner of fifty years?

For goodness sake, he was already eighty years of age, old, sick and alone.

Who will chat with him? Who will cook for him? Who will wash his clothes?

Who will accompany him to see the doctor? Who will do the things Mom used to do when she was still around?

Nobody, it seems. Everyone was busy with his or her own families.

“My dad is lonely and sad. Can I bring the babies home to stay with him?” finally I asked my husband.

He was a very considerate and compassionate man.

“Yes, do what you can for your dad. Keep him company so that he will not be so sad,” he consented.

With that, I moved back to Ipoh from Kuala Lumpur where I was staying, with my little children in tow.

Nicholas was three and Alexandra, only one.

Dad was agreeable with my plans.

He could play with his grandchildren. He could watch TV with them.

He would have warm home-cooked meals to eat and some people to eat together with him.

He would have us to chat with him at night before he retires to bed.

He would have someone to take him to see the doctor.

The days after Mom was gone were not easy.

I have an old and sick father to look after and two babies to take care of.

I kept myself occupied because when you are busy, you will not have the time to feel the pain.

It is tolerable in the morning when the sky is bright and the whole neighborhood came alive with people walking past our house. Noises and activities kept you away from loneliness.

But I fear the evenings when the sky grew darker and the whole place was so quiet. I felt very down and unhappy.

By night, not a soul, neither a car could be seen; sometimes a cat or dog just passed by.

An idle mind is a devil’s workshop. It’s true.

Staring at Mom’s portrait on the wall; I could almost hear her soft whispering. I could still feel her presence in the house. I dare not sit on her favorite chair. It was too painful.

I wish she was still around to tell me what to do when the babies got sick; I wish she was still around to teach me to cook some of dad’s favorite dishes.

There were many times when I suddenly woke up in the still of the night, my head still blank and I still could not digest the fact that she had gone.

I don’t know how but Dad and I managed to struggle through the days, the weeks, the months and the years thereafter.

Now, even Dad had gone away too.

Eleven years had passed. The pain had diluted somehow, but the memories of her still remained in my heart.

Looking back, I had overcome sorrow, fear and extreme loneliness. It was very difficult.

I loved what Winnie the Pooh said, “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart; I’ll stayed there forever.”

Yes, I loved to keep Mom in my heart so that she could stay there forever.

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“Good morning, Frances, so how is Alexandra’s UPSR result?” Uncle Li called around ten o’clock on the morning of November 17th.

UPSR is the Malaysian Primary School Evaluation Test for year six students; they are required to sit for this examination before they continue their secondary education.

“Oh Uncle, I’m not sure how she is doing; there is no news from her yet. I’ll get her to call you once I get hold of her,” I told him.

Uncle Li was a very good family friend. He was very concerned about her education and her brother’s too. He gave them a lot of guidance and motivations, especially when their examinations drew nearer.

At twelve forty-five the same afternoon, I met another mother at the school gate. She said smilingly, “Wow, your daughter scored 7A’s! Many parents talked about her, she was among the top scorers.”

“Oh really, but I have yet to see her result slip,” I was happy but uncertain of what I heard. My heart was pounding wildly.

When the school gate was finally thrown open, I dashed for the notice board where the results of the UPSR were put up for public viewing. I could only read from a distance as throngs of parents stood glue to the board, all busy searching for their children’s names. There was excitement among them.

Alexandra’s name could be easily located as she was listed as the second candidate. Yes, she scored 7A’s alright and only then could I catch my breath again.

Oh, if only my father is still around, he would share my joy. It was Dad’s idea that I started teaching her as soon as she could walk and talk.

“If a girl is educated, then her children and their children will be educated too,” I remember him telling me.

Minutes later, she was beside me, giggling excitedly, “Mommy, I got straight A’s; there were thirteen of us and our class teacher was extremely happy and pleased. He was smiling from ear to ear!”

“I knew darling, well done to all of you boys and girls!” I was happy beyond words and gave her a kiss and pat on her cheeks.

“Call your daddy to tell him the good news, girl!” I reminded her.

“Hello Daddy, I scored straight A’s!” she revealed with great delight.

“Well done, my little rabbit girl!” he answered, “Daddy’s busy now but I will come home as soon as possible, okay!”

“Oh yes, call Uncle Li to inform him about your results too. He had been asking this morning,” I also reminded her.

“Hello Uncle, Alexandra here. Uncle, I scored 7A’s!” she laughed into the mobile.

“What, only seven? I thought there are ten subjects!” Uncle Li joked.

“No, Uncle! The maximum is seven subjects only!” my girl laughed.

“Well done, Alexandra! Uncle will come to visit you shortly!” and she nodded.

“Uncle asked why only seven A’s and not ten A’s,” she said and we both laughed some more.

The efforts of the teachers, parents and the children themselves are finally bearing fruits. Hard work does pay. And thank you, Uncle Li, on behalf of my family!

There was an air of jubilation among her classmates. All of them passed the examinations; some did extremely well, others average, but they all managed to get through nevertheless. A few cried because they did not get as many A’s as they had hoped for or what their parents have expected. Then, there were some gloomy faces too, but never mind, do better next time, okay? It was like this, year after year, throughout the length and width of the country, on the day when the results of public examinations were released.

The next day, November 18th, as the last bell rang for the year, the headmistress came onto the PA system, instructed all the year one to year five students to come out from their classrooms and lined up to bid farewell to their seniors.

All the year six students from the four classes were then invited to troop down from the highest floor where their classrooms were located, down the staircase and then to the corridor leading out to the school gates. Many were seen weeping as they shook the hands of their teachers and were hugging each other for the last time. Next year will see them all going to different secondary schools. With heavy hearts and teary eyes, they parted ways after studying and playing side by side for the last six years.

Some parents who stood at the school gate were emotional and so was I. Not only the children made friends with each other but we the parents too; for we were there every day, rain or shine to send or fetch our kids. There was a bond among us.

As we made our way out into the busy road jammed with school buses and cars; Alexandra turned back and waved to her school mates and teachers. The sky was heavy with dark cumulus and minutes later, the rain fell on us.

“Mom, quick, let’s find some shelter!” my girl and I were both drenched in the rain; our tears washed away by the rain water. It was a long walk home for us both.

“Let’s celebrate tonight when daddy got home, okay?” I offered.

“Yeah!” she shouted out in jubilation and skipped with joy.

Keep it up, Alexandra; your journey has just started and we will walk every step of the way with you!

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Just like there were some really bad apples in a basket; there were some equally good ones too.

When I reached Form Four in 1980, something really good happened to me. I found out that our mathematics teacher was Mr. Teh Chin Seong, a much liked and popular figure in Methodist Girl’s Secondary School  during my time.

On his first day with us, he introduced himself cheerfully and said, “Don’t worry, I am going to show you how easy and fun mathematics can be!” This was indeed a soothing balm for a bruised teenager.

True to his word, he proved himself to be a very good teacher in his subject. Step by step he patiently showed us how a complicated math can be solved easily.

“First, you must understand the logic. Then you must know how to apply that logic. The rest will be straight forward,” he pointed out to us again and again.

“And always remember, don’t be lazy. To do well in mathematics, you must practice and practice as much as possible,” he often told us.

From hating mathematics in primary school due to the endless physical and emotional abuses at the hands of Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Ho, I began to look forward to mathematics lessons. Whenever there is something that I do not understand, I would not hesitate to raise my hands and asked him for explanations.

Unlike Mrs. Lee who would explode in a fury, shouting “Stupidddddd” before grabbing a book and whacked it hard on my head or Mrs. Ho who would simply pull my hair violently; this man was a picture of composure and kindness when you told him you do not understand his lessons.

You could not get to see him yelling at his students on top of his voice or raining blows on them.

He would laugh or smile, nod his head and then very patiently explained on the blackboard again for our benefit.

If I or anyone still could not understand, he would gladly said, “Okay, one more time, hopefully you will get it this round!”

When the bell rang indicating his lessons was over, he would normally offered, “Okay then, see me in the teacher’s room during recess or after school is over!”

Rich girls, poor girls; smart girls, the not so smart girls; gorgeous girls and  plain Janes; they are all his students and he treated them equally. No preferential treatment for anyone and this sets him apart from the other teachers.

With such dedication from Mr. Teh, little wonder his students loved him a lot and looked forward to his lessons. He was like a father-figure and advisor than just an educator. Everyone remembers him fondly and no one speak ill of him. We have only love and deep respect for this teacher.

I remember there was one time when he unintentionally made a small mistake on the blackboard. Somebody spotted it and told him about it, “Sir, look, there’s a mistake there!”

“Is it, where?” and he quickly ran to the blackboard to see where he had gone wrong.

Of course he was embarrassed but he quickly laughed it off, “Ah, this one. You know, I purposely made a mistake to test whether you girls paid attention to my lessons. Good girls, all of you, to notice it!” and the whole class roared with laughter.

“Now, to reward you all, I shall tell you a ghost story. It happened when I was just out from teacher’s college many years ago,” he said with suspense.

“One night, I was out with a few colleagues for some fun in town. We stayed together in Canning Garden. About eleven that night, on the way home, we passed by the Chinese cemeteries on both sides of Tambun Road, shortly after the Perak Turf Club if you are coming from Hugh Low Street. My friend was driving and I was sitting beside him. There were another two fellows sitting at the back. We were chatting casually when we spotted a young lady in white cheongsam with waist length hair. Her back was towards us. We quickly pulled up beside her and I offered her a lift.”

“Miss, where are you going? Mind if we give you a lift home?” I whistled out to her.

“Slowly she turned her head towards our direction. Guess what, she had no eyes, nor mouth, nor nose but just a plain face like a piece of white paper!” he revealed breathlessly and had us all grasping in horror.

“As soon as we realize she was a ghost, we stepped on the accelerator and drove away in split seconds without looking back whether she was after us!”  the whole class burst out in a commotion and that was when the bell rang.

I have Mr. Teh to thank for when I managed to pass in this subject in my SPM examinations. I got a good credit and that was the first time I got through mathematics!

I went to thank him again and bade him farewell when it was time to leave school. He was a man truly generous in sharing his knowledge with others.  I heard he still taught there for a few more years before he retired. 

It was only this year that I learned from my former school-mates in Facebook that our dear teacher had passed away in July last year. I was sad to hear that. May God bless his gentle and humble soul.

You had done your best for us. So, rest in peace, Sir, although this came a bit late.

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Yesterday morning, my husband and I sat with other parents on the floor (on chairs, actually); watching our children performing for us on their graduation day.

We watched with pride as our children performed song after song, dance after dance to the thunderous applauses from the floor.

No more Chinese chopstick, umbrella or fan dances of yesteryear.

Gone was the Malay ‘candle’ or classical Indian dances.

Neither were there the Western cowboy or Rock & Roll dances so popular during my time!

Also missing were those classical princesses, fairies or butterflies in their glittering costumes that I used to envy so much when I was a child.

No sights of Joseph, Mary, baby Jesus and the three wise men either.

Oh yes, the graceful swan in white fur was banished off and the agile ballerina in pink tutu was very obviously absent.

They were all passé. No longer fashionable anymore.

Today’s theme was very contemporary. Everyone sways their hips and was in for some real fun.

The children danced and sang happily in their party dresses to tunes of “Fireworks” by Katy Perry, “On the Floor” by Jennifer Lopez, “Party Rock” by LMFAO and many more.

Their teachers and headmistress looked on proudly.

Everyone mingled around in the hall, taking photos and video. It was a casual and inclusive affair.

We even managed to raise more than fifteen thousand dollars for a student from her year who was recently diagnosed with lupus and was hospitalized.

There was a lump in my throat and some tears welled up at the corner of my eyes as I watched my daughter being called up to the stage to receive her medal for coming out first in school in English story-telling competition.

When it was time for her and her fellow school choir mates to sing a beautiful song in Mandarin, I reached for my tissues.

“We have grown up at last, there were many dreams for us to chase, just like the little red dragon-flies in the pond…….” they sang enthusiastically and boy, how emotional it was for me and I guess, for other parents as well.

It was not so long ago that Dr. Lim, the gynecologist told me it was a baby girl in my womb; months later, she was born smoothly and we brought her home in a little basket.

Her elder brother  frowned with jealousy when we gathered to watch the new arrival in awe.

She suckled and suckled endlessly on my breasts….oh,  the times when I have to wake up to change her pampers and sing her lullabies in the still of the night were endless too!

I still remember that morning when I took her to school for the first time. She was nervous and looked awkward in her school uniform. She spent the first day completely lost in a room of strangers.

And today…today, she has to bid farewell to her classmates of the past six years; a chapter was over and a new one was waiting to be unfold.

A whole new world was waiting for them.

It will be a new milestone for all these twelve years old youngsters soon for they will be going on to secondary schools early next year.

How times flies….how fast our kids have grown up without us realizing it.

When she was a baby, I was sleep deprived. I silently wished that she will grow up in a wink of an eye.

But here she is today, a full fledge teenager with pimples and taking an interest in the birds and bees; suddenly I wished she was still a baby whom I could pick up and cuddle softly in my arms.

Grown up she did, almost as tall as I and there was nothing I could do….

Sitting on the floor, as a mother, looking at her baby on the stage, I felt happy, sad and vindicated all at the same time.

11.11.11 is a remarkable day for mother and daughter.


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This afternoon, I was at the school gate waiting to fetch Alexandra home as usual.

As soon as the bell rang, the classroom doors were thrown wide open. Children were seen rushing out, my daughter among them.

I saw her skipping merrily across the field towards me; she had something dangling from her hand.

 Her eyes were sparkling with anticipation and she broke into a girlish giggle as she held it up for me to see.

“Look what I’ve got, mommy – the music teacher just distributed out our costumes,” she said happily.

It was a set of pretty dress – a long-sleeved cream-colored silk blouse, a glittering vest and a black skirt, all nicely packed inside a plastic bag.

“She said they belonged to the school and told us to take good care of them. We are supposed to wear them tomorrow,” Alexandra continued breathlessly. She looked like an excited bride eager to put on her wedding gown!

She was in Year Six and this will be her last year in primary school, having sat for her UPSR examinations in September.

Little wonder my child was a picture of excitement. She will be on stage tomorrow, which was her graduation day. In her school, every pupil in Year Six is required to take part in some performances; be it singing, dancing or short sketches. Yes, everyone will be included, one hundred and sixty of them. They will perform in batches for the parents and teachers at the school hall.

“Everyone will have something fond to remember. No one will be left out,” her music teacher told them. She had spent a month training them to sing, dance and act out some comedies.

“My music teacher asked the parents to send these costumes for dry cleaning after tomorrow and return them by next week before the school holiday begin,” she informed me.

“Make sure to get it done as these costumes will be used again and again by other students in the coming years. They are recycled items,” my daughter stressed.

“Okay,” I nodded and smiled at her as I took over the package.

I’m very glad for my girl. She had it fairer than me, so far.

From Year One to Year Six, she was given ample opportunities to be a school librarian, to represent her school in English story-telling competitions annually and took part in a host of other activities on the ground that she shown interests and has the capabilities.

I was not so lucky. I was a veteran victim of “favoritism” syndrome by the time I turned ten.

A few of my primary school teachers practiced “favoritism.” They have a ready pool of pupils who were their pets or favorites. From this pool, these pupils were selected as class monitors, school prefects and librarians, athletes to take part in Sports Day or actors to act on Concert Day. Thus, you will see the same faces, year after year.

Some of you may wonder who these privileged or selected few are. They are normally the top students occupying the first three places in class, daughters of some rich families, and daughters of other teachers in the same school or those with pretty faces.

At the other end of the spectrum will be those never-do wells, daughters from poor families or simply those with a face that will turn you off. In these teacher’s eyes, you just do not exist if you are from this group.

Yes, please don’t laugh. It was like this in my class when I was in Methodist Girl’s Primary School Ipoh, some forty years ago.

When I was in Standard Four, my music teacher was looking for a group of girls to sing some Christmas songs. We are having a short sketch of the birth of Jesus Christ for the end year concert. Her favorite students had already taken up the lead roles of Joseph, Mary and the three wise men before the rest of us were even aware of the concert.

She was looking for “extras” to sing and I raised my hand to volunteer as I loved to sing then. Many girls raised their hands too.

Instead of auditioning me for my singing ability, she just shot me down there and then in a very hostile manner. With a pair of contemptuous eyes and a distorted face, she shouted crudely at me, “Put your hand down, I’m sure your father could not afford the lace dress, who asks him to be so poor?” and the whole matter was closed on me right in the face without a chance for me to appeal.

I put my hand down dejectedly and watched on while she picked a group of my classmates instead. She then herded these chosen ones to the music room to practice on the singing.

When I reached home that day, I told my parents how I was turned down at school by the music teacher. My father looked sad.

“It’s alright,” he stroked my hair softly and put his hand over my young shoulder to comfort me.

“Never mind, your teacher was right anyway. It’s true. I do not have enough money to buy you a new dress. Maybe next time when I had earned enough money, you can take part,” he said while gently wiping away my tears.

“I heard from your mother that you wanted a new pencil-case. Perhaps I can get one for you. It only costs a few cents,” he continued, trying hard to soothe my sobbing.

He looked and sounded very awkward with this offer but there was nothing else he could do to console a disappointed child.

My mother shook her head in disbelief. “Then let the rich girls act while the poor girls watch!” she said angrily at such injustice.

 That same evening, I got a new plastic pencil-case as compensation.

I ended up sitting on the floor of the school hall along with other girls who were excluded out. We were the daughters of the lowly scissors sharpener, the trishaw rider or the odd job laborers. Also among us were those who always came out last in class, some slow learners who were often taunted as “Stupid Ass” or “Bodoh” or “Useless Potato.” Then there were also a few whose faces do not warrant a second glance. Yes, we are like a bunch of outcasts.

While the parents of the participants sat on one side, beaming with pride on seeing their daughters as princesses, fairies or butterflies floating gracefully on the stage in shinning costumes heavily bejeweled with beads and colorful sequins, we were told to cheer and clap for them from where we sat.

This is only one of the example of discriminations I was subjected to during my primary school days. There were a few others.

Unknown to the teachers and parents, it was from here the seeds of low self-esteem were germinated. Small things in life do affect people’s behavior.

 It took some self help and positive thinking books for me, many years later, when I was an adult, to step out from the shadow of a misfit.

I am really grateful Alexandra does not have to go through this.

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Take a look at Ricky Hui as “Wong Choy”, the mediums’ assistant turned vampire in the movie “Mr Vampire”.

His silly expressions tickled me pink.

Another look at his goofy face is good enough to send me into gales of laughter.

Like many, I grew up watching Cantonese comedies starring the three famous Hui brothers from Hong Kong – Michael, Samuel and Ricky.

Their movies were shown in many cinemas in Ipoh, especially Rex, Capitol, Ruby and Majestic; and we went to most of them. That was in the 1970s and 1980s.

Among the most enjoyable ones are “The House of 72 Tenants”, “The Private Eyes”, “Money Crazy”, “Aces Go Places” and “Mr Vampire.”

He and his elder brothers brought much laughter, fun and cheers to moviegoers of all ages with their funny gags and beautiful music.

Their songs, mostly about the struggles of the lower classes in society, endears them to their audiences.

The movies and songs they made are still very popular with the masses of ordinary people till this day.

Just like me, my children grew up watching their movies and listening to their songs. They had watched them all.

Michael always acted cunning and stingy; Samuel, who was the most handsome among the brothers, used to get the juiciest role as Romeo; while poor Ricky got to play the simpleton or country bumpkin. He always got bullied by others.

Unfortunately, Ricky, who was only 65, passed on yesterday from heart attack in his home. What a sad loss. We had lost a clown, an entertainer and a talented actor.

Maybe his next role is to be an everlasting happy ghost? Hopefully.

Whatever, thank you for the laughter, Ricky, we all appreciated your humongous sense of humor.

And rest well for you deserves it.

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