August 24, 2018

The "orange jam" story


We were shopping at a hypermarket and my daughter was looking at some jams … she asked me … “what jam do you want Daddy?”

I told her I want orange marmalade and as she was looking for it, she asked again … “Daddy, why you like orange marmalade? I told her there is a story behind it. “What story, what so special about it?” … I heard her asking as she was walking away to another aisle. I did not have the chance to tell her the story then and she wasn’t interested anyway.

Now, I would like to tell the story here.

When I was a primary school kid, every school day morning my mom would make breakfast for me … a hot cup of BOH tea with condense milk, two pieces of bread spread with margarine and then on top of the margarine she will sprinkle some sugar.

Then I would take the bread and cover the cup of tea … the steam from the hot tea will melt the margarine … melted margarine with sugar taste so much better. Alternately we will have Marie biscuits or cream crackers every now and then. That was what we can afford.

After getting me to school my mom will go to work. She was a housemaid for a British expatriate in a bungalow somewhere near Section 16, Petaling Jaya. She works from 8am till late in the evening. My mom told me (many years later) that her "gwai low" boss was employed by Dumex … I am sure many will remember the factory near the roundabout in Section 16.

When I was 9 years old … during a school holiday, my mom took me to her work place … that was the first time I went inside a bungalow. It was a huge place … while she was working, I was told to hang around at the back of the bungalow near the servant’s quarter … yes, the bungalow was that big. There was a small building at the back with two rooms where the servants can rest. She left me playing on my own foraging into a small forest looking for birds and spiders just behind the bungalow.

A while later my mom came looking for me … in her hands were a small container, a glass of milk and bread. She took me to the servant’s quarter and then spread what I saw was some jelly like stuffs on the bread. I asked her what it is … she said … “orange jam”. And then she let me have the bread. It was delicious … the first time I tasted “orange jam” … or any jam for that matter. I really like it … so different from what I used to eat every day.

Then I asked her if she can make it at home and she told me she did not make it … her boss bought it and it is expensive … she “stole” a bit for me.

My mom watched as I was enjoying the delicious bread spread with “orange jam” … there was something in her expression … a type of feeling that I did not know it then but I know it later. It was a feeling of happiness, bliss and a sense of joy knowing that her son is happy.

Not long later I get to taste “orange jam” again … this time it was at home and it was in a glass bottle and I could read the label on the bottle … it says “orange marmalade”. It was the same “orange jam” that my mom gave me at her work place. She knew I like the jam and she bought it. I was too young to know how much she paid for it but it was something expensive. She bought it just because I like it.

And not just that … you see, my mom did not eat the orange marmalade. I asked her why … she said she doesn’t like it. Strange … such delicious condiment and she doesn’t like it. I did not think much about that but later I realized that it was not because she doesn’t like orange marmalade … it was because I like it and she let me have all of it.

And I remember from there onwards … there was always a bottle of marmalade at home. 

Even years later … in my 20s, when I was on my own … when I got married and have my own kids … every time I go visit my mom … in the fridge, there will always be a bottle of orange marmalade. And same as before, she won’t touch it … it was there just for me when I go see her. Every time I will make it a point to eat the orange marmalade … if not with bread, I will just take a few spoonsful of it. She will watch me and you can see the expression on her face again … the same feeling she had when she first brought me the “orange jam” when I was a child … the very same happiness, bliss and the sense of joy showed on her face. 

You see, my mom is a very sentimental person … she remembers things … whether sad or happy. She held nostalgia close to her heart. Let me move away from this “orange jam” story and tell you another story … I will come back to it in a while. 

My mom was born in Beranang (few kilometers south of Semenyih) … the old house where she grew up in, is still there today … just off the main trunk road. I took her back to see the old house many times. 

Now … every time when she was there, she will reenact a sad incident that happened to her when she was young. Just after the war … due to poverty, my grandfather was forced to give away one of his children … he decided to give away the youngest daughter, the last child after my mom. And at the old house … my mom will reenact the moment how her sister was taken away.

She will walk about a hundred meters from the old house up a slope to the main trunk road … on the road, she will stand facing the side towards Mantin … then she will just wave her hand exactly like she waved to her sister while she (her sister) was taken away on a back of a bicycle many years ago … she will stand there waving for a few minutes oblivious to the cars passing by … she will wave as if until her sister disappears into the distance. And then she will walk back to the old house … her eyes were red. I can see how she was affected by the incident in her younger days.

Though a very sad incident … it did have a happy ending. Years later, my mom and her sister found each other in Malacca.

And back to the “orange jam” story … you see ... like my mother, I am also a very sentimental person. There were many incidents … good or bad, sad or happy, throughout my life that I hold close to me … these are valuable memories of someone or something very dear to me.

So why I love orange marmalade? Because every time I taste orange marmalade … it brings the memory of my mother, the expression and the feeling that she felt watching her son enjoying the “orange jam” and knowing how happy her son was. It brings a familiar feeling … I know the feeling and I like the feeling … the same feeling of happiness, bliss and joy of remembering my dear mother.

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