Goals, Glory & Bon Jovi

This pic popped up on my Facebook Memories -- March 2019. JDT had just beaten Selangor 4–2. It was probably the last time I watched a match at Shah Alam Stadium.

Fun fact: when the 80,000-capacity stadium officially opened in 1994, I was there with my uni mates -- among the first to sit on those shiny new seats. We didn’t quite realise then that we were witnessing the start of an era.

Marking that grand opening on 16.7.1994, fans were treated to a series of high-profile matches: Selangor vs Dundee United F.C., Leeds United F.C. vs Australia national under-23 team, and Selangor vs FC Bayern München. Among the stars on display was French striker Jean-Pierre Papin. At the time, it was the largest stadium in the region -- a true source of pride.

After that, I became a regular. Malaysia League matches, cup finals, international friendlies -- Shah Alam Stadium was the place to be. And of course, one of the best concerts I’ve ever attended: Bon Jovi live in 1995. Electric.

As we all know, in 2024, demolition works began to make way for the Shah Alam Sports Complex (KSSA) redevelopment project, which is expected to be fully completed by 2029.

End of an era. But what memories it gave us.

Peninsula: A Story That Hurts

 

I finally finished reading Peninsula by Rehman Rashid recently, and by sheer coincidence, a rather melancholic music score was playing in the background just as I closed the book. I’m not going to lie -- it was an enjoyable, thought-provoking read that quietly tore at me.

But before that, what took me so long to finally read this 2016 sequel by one of Malaysia’s finest writers?

Years ago, I had read its “prequel”, the magnum opus A Malaysian Journey, not long after it was published, and I was completely blown away by the vividness of his storytelling. Then, a couple of years ago, as part of my personal quest to revisit Malaysian books from years past, I hunted high and low for A Malaysian Journey, finally managed to secure a copy online, and read it again. Once more, I was floored.

Naturally, the next step was to read Peninsula. But being out of print for so long, it proved elusive — even in second-hand online markets. I finally stumbled upon a copy at Pustaka Raja Tun Uda in Shah Alam, quickly borrowed it, and read it slowly from cover to cover, savouring every story, every flourish of language, every emotion he managed to evoke.

For those unfamiliar, Peninsula: A Story of Malaysia is Rehman's deeply personal and political memoir about returning home and trying to make sense of the country he loved. Blending autobiography with history, he retraces his childhood, his career in journalism, and his marriage, while reflecting on pivotal national moments -- Independence, May 13, the New Economic Policy, and the rise of racial and religious politics. Through his eyes, Malaysia’s early promise gradually gives way to bureaucracy, cronyism, and widening divisions.

What eventually broke me was learning that he had written the book partly as a tribute to his ex-wife, Rosemarie. After her passing, Rehman shared a note on Facebook -- and the response, he said, was a strange mix of deep empathy and condemnation.

Curious, I went looking for that piece of writing. Here is part of it:

“Of course, I should have gone back to her as soon as the book was published. But then it took off so successfully, and she and I both knew me well enough to know that, wherever else we were in the world, I would only feel all the more that I belonged in Malaysia and nowhere else. So I feel now that our separation would have been inevitable, if for reasons very different from those for which marriages ordinarily end. And so Rosemarie went on, up & out into the world, while I…

…I, the biggest, saddest fool, gave up my angel for this country. Which is as much to say, for this hatred and contempt; this mediocrity and ignorance; this incompetence, cynicism and corruption. This religious arrogance and racial chauvinism; this vile mediaevalist barbarism.

I paid for my loyalty to Malaysia with everything good and decent that I had, only to be mocked and despised; to watch my profession usurped by “the right kind of Malay” regardless of literacy; to have my name smeared and reputation destroyed; and in the end to be hounded back to the very redoubt in the hills where I had written that book 23 years ago now, never again to write. Rosemarie never saw this place where I may now languish forgotten and ignored for the rest of my own days, and now she never will. I chose my love for my country over my love for her. Bad choice. Big mistake. My punishment has been a life of regret and insuperable loneliness.”

Rehman himself passed away just a year after Peninsula was published.

So if you haven’t yet, do read Peninsula.

Heartbreaking soundtrack optional.

Walking with Tunku Through History

 

Walking through the Tunku exhibition at Muzium Negara felt less like browsing a gallery and more like tracing the footsteps of a life lived in service to a nation. Beneath the bold title “Tunku Negarawan Ulung: Pengasas Negara Bangsa,” the panels unfolded like chapters in a documentary -- each date, photograph, and caption marking a turning point not only for one man, but for Malaysia itself. The atmosphere made you slow down, read carefully, and remember that independence was not a single shout of “Merdeka,” but a long, deliberate journey.

One of the earliest moments captured was February 1956 at Padang Banda Hilir, Melaka, when Tunku declared 31 August 1957 as the date of independence. It wasn’t Merdeka yet -- but it was the promise of Merdeka. The image of him standing in an open car, arm raised to the crowd, felt electric even decades later, as if hope itself had taken physical form. Nearby, a quieter photograph of his student days in London showed a very different Tunku -- young, far from home, surrounded by his adopted family. It was a gentle reminder that before the negotiations and speeches, there was simply a student learning the world that he would one day negotiate with.

The story then returned to London in 1963, where he signed the Malaysia Agreement at Marlborough House, expanding the dream of Malaya into the larger idea of Malaysia. You could sense the weight of responsibility in those images -- documents on the table, pens poised, history being written in careful strokes. From student to negotiator to nation-builder, the arc of his life felt purposeful, almost cinematic, each step leading naturally to the next.

But what lingered most were the final panels -- his resignation from office, and eventually news of his passing in 1990. After the triumphs and celebrations, the exhibition grew quieter, more reflective. The photographs seemed softer, more human. It was a reminder that even the “Father of Independence” was, in the end, a man who stepped away and grew old like everyone else. Walking out, I didn’t just feel informed about history; I felt as though I had accompanied him through it -- from youthful beginnings, to nationhood, to farewell. Nostalgic for a time I never lived through, yet deeply grateful for the steady hands that helped shape the country we call home.

* The exhibition runs till 29th March 2026 at Muzium Negara

Salam Cik Ah Liang, Lama Tak Jumpa!

Masya-Allah, this Facebook post by Dr Maszlee really stopped me in my tracks. He’s pictured with Pak Ah Liang, a school bus driver and operator many of us remember fondly from way back in the 1980s in JB.

Yes, Cik Ah Liang -- as we used to call him -- was our trusted school bus driver for years. In my case, for my entire sekolah rendah period at STAR (2). Rain or shine, he was always there, faithfully ferrying us to and from school.  

A Chinese Muslim revert, Cik Ah Liang was incredibly kind and endlessly patient with us kids. And mind you, we were often loud, rowdy, and anything but well-behaved! Yet he rarely, if ever, lost his cool. Haha.

Here’s a little nugget from the archives: I used to supply Cik Ah Liang with cassette tapes to play on our daily journeys. Yes, I was already a tastemaker back then -- introducing fellow busmates to Duran Duran, Wham!, Prince, and, of course, Search and Lefthanded.

It’s truly heart-warming to see Cik Ah Liang still looking so good and healthy in his 80s. Alhamdulillah. And thank you, Dr Maszlee, for unexpectedly unlocking such a beautiful walk down memory lane.

The Demolition of The Puteri Pacific, JB -- It's Finally Happening

Pic from FB

 

I didn’t expect it to feel like a stab in the heart -- but it did. Seeing the news of a Johor Bahru institution, The Puteri Pacific Hotel, being demolished made me pause and stare into space for a while. This wasn’t just any hotel. A four-star property with over 500 rooms, connected to the Persada Johor International Convention Centre and standing proudly on Jalan Abdullah Ibrahim, it was part of the city’s skyline and soul for decades.

Yes, I know the hotel had ceased operations some five years ago during the pandemic. That part was already a quiet goodbye. But watching it being physically dismantled hit very differently. The Puteri Pacific began life as the Pan Pacific in 1991, and back then it was one of those landmarks we were genuinely proud of -- a sign that JB was going places, standing tall and confident just across the Causeway.

After both my parents passed on, the hotel became my “home” each time I balik kampung to JB. The moment you stepped into the lobby, that unmistakable Johor hospitality wrapped itself around you. People were always warm and welcoming, whether you turned up in a suit or in a simple T-shirt and jeans. From the room window, you could take in that familiar view of JB with Singapore in the distance -- steady, reassuring, quietly comforting. 

And of course, everything was within walking distance: KOMTAR, Kotaraya, Salahuddin Bakery, Hua Mui. So thank you, Puteri Pacific, for the memories. You were never just a hotel.