Wednesday, 22 October 2025

Echoes from Kuching and Sibu: When History Repeats Itself

 There’s a saying that goes like that.  “The past never truly dies; it just changes faces”.


Many years ago, in the dusty streets of Kuching, my great-grandmother lived through a heartbreak that would shape our family for generations. She married my great-grandfather, unaware that he had already taken a wife in China. She couldn’t read or write, so when she pressed her thumb onto a document that the immigration officials placed before her, she thought it was an act of trust. 



My great grandmother with my Mom 
when the latter was very young



Little did she know that the paper she signed would summon his first wife from across the sea,  bringing with her a storm that would tear one home into two.  


My great grandfather and his 2 wives


You can read more about my maternal family’s story here: http://thecrazyangmoandhisangrywife.blogspot.com/2016/01/


That deceit caused by one man’s selfishness, split the family between Kuching and Sibu.
My great-grandmother left, with little money, raising her children alone in Sibu. She made do with whatever she had, surviving on grit and quiet strength. 


Yet, the wound of that betrayal never truly healed. It lingered like a shadow that stretched across time.


Fast forward several generations. The places have changed. Kuching still hums with life, Sibu remains steady and stubborn but the ghosts of old wrongs seem to know their way back.


Two of my aunts in Kuching devoted their lives to caring for their aging parents, my grand uncle and grand aunt. They were there for the doctor visits and the late-night worries. They didn’t have much, but they gave what mattered most: time, care, and love.



When their parents passed on, another sister,  the executor of the estate, decided that the family house, the one where my aunts had lived and cared for their elders, should be sold. There was no discussion, no compassion, no plan for where the old and frail would go. Just a simple, heartless instruction: pack up and leave.


And so, history repeats.



My grand uncle’s house in Kuching


Once again, dishonesty and greed tear through a family that once stood together. Once again, women,  older, softer, but stronger than they appear are left to fend for themselves.


It’s tragic, really. That the same betrayal that crossed oceans now crosses generations. That lessons our ancestors paid for in tears and hardship are still being ignored by their descendants.


I sometimes wonder if family legacies are like soil.   What’s sown deep down eventually surfaces. If deceit is planted, even in the distant past, maybe it keeps finding ways to grow unless someone finally digs deep enough to uproot it.


To my great-grandmother in Sibu, I think of you often.  You were wronged, yet you endured. I hope this time, your story and your strength will remind us that no inheritance, no property, no signature is worth more than the simple act of being kind and honest to family.


Maybe, if we remember that, we can finally stop history from repeating itself.



My 2 aunts from Kuching whom I love and care about