On Saturday morning I got a call from my cousin in Sabah. My uncle had passed away in Kota Belud, my Dad’s hometown. As coincidence would have it, my Dad was in KL for a work conference, and as I got the news first, I thought I should call him immediately on his mobile.

“Dad, I’ve got some very bad news for you. Your brother is dead.”
“Which one?
“Second uncle, Ah Seng’s father…”

My dad was in a good mood at the time, and I found it a bit strange not to detect any shock or sadness in his voice, but considering the way Asians dislike public displays of emotion, unexpected phonecalls of this type are sometimes hard to read. Anyway he cancelled his conference and flew to KK that day... and is now in KB, ready for the funeral tomorrow.

When my parents first came out to Australia as students, they both lived with Australian families who rented out the spare room to international students. These landlords/guardians eventually became adopted family. I grew up thinking of these folks as my Australian grandparents. We had three pairs of Aussie grandparents – the Kidds, the Hickeys and the Scotts. I will always remember the morning that Grandpa Hickey passed away and I had to get my Dad out of the shower to answer the phone. I must’ve been about 8 or 9 years old, but I remember him standing in the kitchen, dripping wet, and crying. I can’t remember ever seeing him cry, except for that occasion.

Last night I was out clubbing with my friends at Temptation, an Asian dance party at City Hotel, when a fight broke out on the dancefloor. An acquaintance of mine got the shit kicked out of him by 6-8 guys. I think he tried to chat up one of the girls in their group and that was all the excuse they needed. One of them grabbed him by the arm as he tried to walk away. He was apologizing at the time, saying “Sorry, sorry sorry” but they must’ve been spoiling for a fight because from out of nowhere they swarmed on him and beat him to the ground, kicking and punching him senseless. One of the bar-staff intervened and pushed the attackers back. I saw Paul’s body huddled on the floor, but at that stage I didn’t realize who it was. Then one of the gang members started throwing glass tumblers and bottles at the barman, who was forced to retreat. The projectiles hit his body and bounced up into the ceiling. It was all so wrong. I wanted to tackle the guy who was throwing the glasses, but before I knew it the psycho was hugging a friend that he had spotted in the crowd, and Paul and the barman had both disappeared.

We left before the cops arrived and went for a late-night pie at Harry’s Café de Wheels. Unlike my companions, who had found the whole spectacle rather surreal and exciting, I was disturbed by the ferocity of the attack, and the way the violence switched from Paul to the barman so quickly and indiscriminately. Just half an hour earlier, two of these haters had shaken my hand and ruffled my hair, as I was resting by the windowsill.

… I went to yum cha and played tennis today for the first time in 10 or so years, with some new friends I met on a recent ski trip. I've been raving and clubbing with these guys a fair bit lately. They're very close, but at the same time, welcoming to strangers like myself. And for some reason, they're going through a tennis craze at the moment. Tennis is one of my dad's great passions, which is one of the reasons I never really enjoyed it. When we were little kids, he used to make my sister and I accompany him to the courts, rather than hire a baby sitter. Later on, we both had to take tennis lessons so he could use us as target practice for his power serve. But today, I actually enjoyed bashing a few balls around, even though the events of the last two days have left me unsettled.