I Miss My Real Aunt.

I grew up watching Aunt putting on elegant clothes, smelling all so nice with perfume. Her eyes made all the more wider by the way she applied the eye-liner. Her collection of batik sarung which she insisted must be only the best from the batik capitals in Indonesia. She made annual trips to Penang to see if I was doing alright, and in between, dragged me on a day-long batik sarung hunt weaving ourselves like eels in the bazaar that started right next to Pasar Chowrasta on Penang Road and ended on the perimeter of Campbell Street. For a form one student, this trip was counter-productive to my reputation as a teenager with adult-size problems. I used to hate these trips but I wouldn't want to leave her alone with a handbag full of cash. You'd hate this trip too if you went with her. She'd make the seller bring out his entire stock in the store. Having done this she'd drive a hard bargain that you could see the seller's face all black and twisted. In the end she'd have her way because she'd buy as if there's no tomorrow, which pleased the seller a great deal.

She was in her late forties then. I am inclined to put her picture in this blog so you can see for yourself what a beautiful lady she was at that age. If you suddenly appeared at the house to see her, she'd make sure you wait until she appeared in a fresh set of clothes, hair neatly combed into a perfect tight. I love the time when we got back from shopping for batik sarung, opening the packets to smell the fresh natural dye that you won't get to smell anymore, not with pre-prints batik using chemical dye.

Back in Dungun Aunt would spread out four or five pieces of batik sarung that she considered exceptionally pretty and started to work out her own design by copying and combining the elements such as pareng with Japanese pineapple elements, sprinkling flowers in baskets here and there, or grapes. I later learnt during one of the trips with her to Pekalongan that these are the signature elements of Eliza Van Zuylen, a Dutch woman who paved a new direction in batik sarung design that has stayed to this day. Sometimes I helped Aunt draw out the design, free-hand. I became quite good at it that she said I should get into this business big time, but that was before a group of young artists started the movement to revive batik which ended Malaysian batik losing its direction and in the end having no identity that you can connect with either Malaysia or batik or anything.

This was during the 80s. Cousin was in the university. Grandma had a few years to live, and I was at a stage when I didn't know any better about anything except I wanted to leave Dungun, to be as far away from the town because I didn't want anything to do with Terengganu. My restlessness made Aunt uneasy that in the end she gave in to give me the money to pay for the passage to Sydney. It was the trip that I shouldn't have made because I believe Aunt was full of regrets for giving in to my nagging. Especially when she came to know that I had fallen in love with Catherine.