The Shizi Island of the 1960s was a place of contrasts, caught between despair and aspiration. After gaining independence, the nation was struggling to rise from the ashes of war and poverty. The streets bore witness to this dichotomy: slums stretched across mosquito-infested swamps, their wooden shanties prone to devastating fires and floods. Malaria was rampant, claiming lives indiscriminately. Yet, amidst the chaos, children played barefoot on dirt roads, their laughter echoing through the narrow alleys.
Coolies toiled at the docks, unloading goods under the scorching sun, while samsui women, clad in their signature red headscarves, labored at construction sites. Trishaw pullers ferried the wealthier citizens across the city, weaving through the haphazard maze of hawker stalls. Street vendors hawked everything from steaming bowls of noodles to pungent herbal remedies, their cries blending into the symphony of a city in transition.
Modern conveniences were a luxury for most. Radios and televisions were rare, and cars were an uncommon sight. For entertainment and news, families relied on Rediffusion, a wired sound broadcasting service that brought the world into their modest homes. Telephones, shared among multiple households, symbolized a communal resilience born of necessity.
Amid this vibrant chaos, the undercurrents of tension were palpable. Shizi’s population was a mosaic of different nationalities and ethnicities, their interactions marked by both camaraderie and hostility. Even within the Zonggok immigrant community, sub-ethnic divisions bred suspicion and animosity. Underground gangs thrived in the shadows, wielding power that often eclipsed that of the fledgling police force. Illicit drugs circulated freely, further fraying the fragile social fabric.
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This was the world into which Chee Leon and Chris Lun were born, their lives shaped by starkly different circumstances. Chee, the second eldest of nine siblings, grew up in grinding poverty. His father, an unemployed drunkard, offered no support, leaving Chee’s mother to work tirelessly as a childcare matron to keep the family afloat. The family’s cramped home was a battlefield of hunger and despair, yet Chee’s resolve grew from these harsh beginnings. His ambition and adherence to tradition were forged in the fires of necessity.
Chris Lun, in contrast, enjoyed the comforts of a middle-class upbringing. Her father, a merchant, provided a stable income, while her mother’s gentle presence nurtured a sense of freedom and creativity. With only one elder brother to share the household’s attentions, Chris’s life was a world away from Chee’s struggles. Her free-spirited nature and love for exploration clashed with Chee’s pragmatic worldview, yet it was this very opposition that drew them together.
Their union was far from simple. Chee and Chris belonged to rival sub-ethnic groups within the Zonggok community, and their families vehemently opposed the match. Their love story unfolded like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, defying societal expectations. Against all odds, they married and started a family, bringing into the world two sons who would inherit both their strengths and their struggles.
Arun Leon, born on the summer solstice of 1968, was their first child. His arrival marked a moment of hope for Chee and Chris, a fragile beacon in the turbulent sea of Shizi’s early days. The swampy slums were beginning to transform, as the government initiated ambitious programs to clear the shantytowns and build low-cost housing. Schools were established, though their organization was chaotic, reflecting the nation’s growing pains. Arun’s earliest memories would be of this period of flux, a time when Shizi was struggling to define itself, just as he would one day struggle to find his place within it.