We closed our funding on 21 December 2020. A huge THANK YOU to everyone who has donated and shared our fundraising drive! Here's a shout out to all our Super Home Groan Supporters, whose names will also be appearing in the acknowledgements of our book. Aneeta Sundararaj Anne Lim Charles Chiam Charlie Tan Darren Teh David & Deborah Tan Eksentrika Evelyn Teh Joelle Saint-Arnoult Julya Oui Kang Chung Yee Krishnaveni K.K. Panikker Nancy Jenster Ong Lin Lin Phoon Lei Kuan Sebastian Colorado Sukanya Dhanarajan Tang Sui Lan Winston Lim Yasmin Bathamanathan Digital rewards have been released on Christmas, so if you donated at any of the digital levels, do check your emails! We launch Home Groan on FB at 10AM! See you there!
Today's the final day to pre-order Home Groan! As of last night (20 Dec, Sun) at 10pm, we are currently at 45%! There will probably be some variance between our current figures here and the actual, as we continue to match the funds received in our bank and paypal account with the forms, plus manual bulk pre-orders. Which is also a reminder: if any of you have sent us money but NOT filled up the form, please do so now so that we can make sure that you'll get your copies of Home Groan. aDDITIONAL sUPER hOME gROAN sUPPORTERSTang Sui Lan Charlie Tan To everyone who has been faithfully following our updates and resharing our posts, THANK YOU! See Week 1 and Week 2.5's Super Home Groan Supporters. All Catherine wanted was to be left alone. She sat in Gusto Café, wondering what to do with the ghosts in her house. An exorcism? By which religion? She still avoided James, though she was now on friendly-ish terms with Julia. Could an exorcism or cleansing remove one ghost but leave the other? An hour later, with no answers and half a cup of cold coffee left, she gave up and plodded uphill towards home. She was sweating by the time she reached her front door, wondering when she’d started thinking of it as home. Sometime after Valentine’s? Had visiting the columbarium changed something in her? The finality of their deaths had finally sunk in; maybe she could now accept that the house was really hers in this life, even if they still haunted it in their afterlife. The ever-present guilt still ate at her, though, especially now that she’d decided to stay. She needed to start looking for a job. Her savings and the conversion rate would keep her afloat for a while yet, but it wasn’t unlimited. Maybe she should have just sold the house and stayed in New Zealand. Or not spent so much upgrading the place if she were only going to move out again. What am I staying for? “Ah Meow, you need to go shopping.” “I’m fine, Jules.” “My niche is fuller than your shelves. You should stock up.” “On toilet paper?” Catherine had taken to reading the news aloud in the house. She would later wonder if Julia had been giving her a warning, but at the moment, she argued stubbornly with her ex-best friend. James wasn’t as kind. She still hadn’t said more than five sentences to him, but neither had he—that is, if you counted his oft-repeated sentence as one. It was as if he was stuck in a loop, unable to move on, unlike his twin. But now, James loomed over her, eerily like he used to in life, and said two words. “Go. Now.” Catherine found her feet carrying her up the stairs and to her car before she really thought about it. She fumed. Yet there was truth in what they said. Her shelves were bare and she should really think about filling them. She’d barely unpacked, living out of her many suitcases, half her things still at Nathan’s. If she were staying, she should move in properly. So she bought all the essentials of a proper kitchen: salt, pepper, rice, oil, light soya sauce, dark soya sauce, oyster sauce, chilli powder, curry powder (she pondered the rows of spices for a few minutes then decided to get the pre-mixed sachets), garlic, onions, ginger. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she was only cooking for herself anyway, just as she had been all those years. It had been a miserable, lonely life, and she’d often wondered what about her—what about James—had made it so difficult for her to make friends and fall in love again. She’d just buckled down to work, focusing on forgetting. Maybe it was the forgetfulness that had brought the isolation; she’d thought of filling her life with new memories, but making those memories had been the part she was afraid of. And now, she was back here. Living with the same old memories. Want to read the whole story? Click on the button below to get a copy of the anthology!
We're in the final days of our funding period! Here's another quick shout out to our recent Super Home Groan Supporters. (Check out Week 1's update for the first list) super home groan supporters (week 2.5)Sukanya Dhanarajan Kang Chung Yee Deborah & David Tan Aneeta Sundararaj Phoon Lei Kuan These awesome people will be acknowledged in the book, so if you'd like your name in our acknowledgements page as well, you can still do that by funding us at the Super Home Groan Supporter tier!
Penang islanders are notorious for forgetting that that strip of land on Peninsular Malaysia is also part of Penang. We're not making that mistake in Home Groan! Here's Winnie Cheng (ERYN)'s illustration of the Penang Ferry, based on Sukanya Dhanarajan's essay, The Mysterious Attraction of Penang, after which we take a stroll through Butterworth in Janaki's Journey (Krishnaveni K.K. Panikker). Janaki's Journey (Excerpt); Krishnaveni K.K. PanikkerAs Janaki continued walking, a young Malay boy approached her and asked if she needed bus tickets for Kuala Lumpur. This made her recall a tall, big sized Indian man during her schooling days who used to announce the arrival of the buses. Janaki and her friends loved the way he announced one particular bus that went to Bukit Mertajam. He would call out loud and clear, “Bukit, Bukit, naik Bukit, naik Bukit!” and everyone would know that the bus had arrived. Janaki shaded her eyes against the early morning sun glare and squinted to get a better view of the so-called Penang Sentral. She smiled to herself as she looked around. Everything was so high-tech and modern. The old train station was gone, replaced by neat and smart-looking trains and ample parking spaces. “Ok, it’s time to continue my journey.” She smiled gleefully as she stepped out of the station. The ringing tone of her handphone broke up her day-dreaming. “Hello girl,” Janaki answered softly. “Muthee, where are you now? Have you reached the bus station? We want to fetch you,” her granddaughter spoke excitedly. “I haven’t reached yet, girl. I will call you once when I am at the station,” the old woman lied with a twinkle in her eyes. “Muthee, are you sure you took the correct bus? Amma will kill us if you get lost. She doesn’t know you have taken the bus,” the young girl said worriedly. “Muthee, please tell me the bus number,” asked another young male voice sternly. “Young man, I am inside the bus and I cannot see the number. Don’t worry, I will be there in no time,” she replied. “Muthee, Amma said it is the Hungry Ghost season now and old people should not wander outside alone,” said a soft baby voice. “Don’t worry mol, the ghost won’t catch me,” she replied cheekily as she switched off her handphone and walked steadily with her opened umbrella over her head. Janaki smiled and shook her head as she thought of her Chinese daughter-in-law and her strict traditions and rituals. As she strolled, she realised the kampung houses were all gone. So were the mamak nasi kandar shop, the dobi, and the small Chinese shop that sold economy rice. There used to be a Shell and Esso Depot where the oil tankers drivers drove in and out nonstop, a LLN (now TNB) office, and the Straits Trading Co where workers of all races worked. There were no foreigners working in the foundry then, only Malaysians. Janaki’s father had worked in this foundry under the furnace department. He was a very hardworking man who took up two jobs—he had also been a part-time gardener at the nearby bungalows. The workers, including her father, had been given quarters according to their ranks near Allen Road but her father had opted to stay in the kampung because of their big family. Janaki walked past dull and lifeless shophouses with no history. There used to be many beautiful colonial style bungalows here, now flattened and replaced, also jeopardising the charms of the once-beautiful seaside. Want to read the whole story? Click on the button below to get a copy of the anthology!
“Write what you know.” That’s the most common writing advice one hears. But I also say, “Write what fascinates you.” The Goddess and the Sea is a story I wrote because Malaysian Chinese gods fascinated me. It began as a play called The Council of Eminent Gods. I had been reading Arthur Miller and Anton Chekhov, and decided to try my hand at writing a play. For Home Groan, I adapted it into a 3,000-word short story and changed the title completely. Chinese gods were absent in my Christian household, and that was why they fascinated me. But growing up, I would hear names like Tua Pek Kong, Natuk Kong, Ti Kong, Kuan Kong, and Kuan Yin. I decided to dig deep, and found through research that some of these deities were unique to the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia. Hence, I felt it even more important to write about them. In Penang, there is a famous temple called Kek Lok Si. It stands on a hill in Air Itam and is famed for its 120-feet tall statue of Kuan Yin. That place fascinated me as a teenager, where I have many fond memories seeing the Chinese New Year lights and taking photos with my zodiac animal. I often wondered about the Kuan Yin statue; about what would happen if the goddess opened her eyes, and what came out of the little vase in her hand. On my mother’s side of the family, her relatives practised Buddhism and Taoism. I used to see Kuan Yin sitting in a globe on my cousin’s dashboard. I also saw Kuan Kong standing guard like an action figure on another cousin’s dashboard. These cousins were young men; progressive millennials to say the least, and I always mused at how prominently their gods featured in their lives. Many things about Penang, my hometown, fascinate me. The people I know, the culture they practise, and the Penang Bridge of course. I don’t know what it is about that 13-kilometre stretch that is so intriguing and mysterious, but it’s appeared many times in my short stories. Many suicides and accidents tend to happen on the bridge too, and because I’m quite morbid, I like writing about them. These elements all feature in The Goddess and the Sea. To me, it’s important to write my world, and tell my readers about the things that fascinate me about this world. I suppose the writing teachers are right when they say to “write what you know.” Hopefully, readers will find it as captivating to read a good story about another culture. No matter where we come from, sometimes, we’re not so different after all. Read an excerpt of The Goddess and the Sea here.
The three eminent gods most worshipped in Penang Chinese culture are Tua Pek Kong, Kuan Yin Ma, and Na Tuk Kong. Each are revered for their respective functions, the first being the God of Prosperity, the second the Goddess of Mercy, and the third, also known as Datuk Keramat, being a local guardian spirit unique to the Chinese diaspora in Nanyang. Each god is bestowed his or her principal shrine, but collectively, they dot the homes, hillsides, altars, and temples of this island. Unbeknownst to worshippers, the eminent gods live and roam freely among mortals. Presently, they rest beneath a tree on a beach in Batu Maung, a fishing village in the southern region of Penang island. The news of Ma Chor’s arrival from Meizhou Island in China had caused a stir, and Keramat was talking excitedly about the delicate transporting of the Goddess of the Sea, known also as Mazu or Matsu. “But she’s not coming to Penang?” Kuan Yin asked. “No, she’s not popular here. We are,” Keramat said. “She’s at Thean Hou Temple in Kuala Lumpur today. Then off to Melaka and Singapore next week.” Kuan Yin was silent, her eyes downcast. In statues her eyes were always closed, but in real life, it was often hard to tell what was what. “I was hoping she would make a pit stop here.” “Why? Anything to ask her?” “Not particularly,” she said. “I suppose she is no longer as revered as she was in the old days. Our inhabitants are less dependent on the seas now.” “Well…” Keramat said, “we’re still an island-state though. There are always jet ski accidents and Penang Bridge suicides.” At the mention of the bridge, Kuan Yin shivered though the air was humid and warm. In the horizon, the sun was low and soon it would melt into the sea like a giant egg yolk. A fisherman or two were hauling their boats and nets to shore, oblivious to the three sitting by a boulder. Pek Kong, however, was unmoving against the rock. The hot sea breeze had induced him into a dream-like state, and his eyes were closed underneath his bushy white eyebrows. The wrinkles and age spots showed clearly on his face, and on his forehead he wore a frown. Suddenly, he stirred, looking straight at Kuan Yin. “My Little Lotus,” he said. “I know why you want to see Ma Chor so badly. It’s because of the boy, Peng, isn’t it?” Find out more about Wan Phing's work here. Want to read the whole story? Click on the button below to get a copy of the anthology!
A location that comes up multiple times in Home Groan is the Penang Botanical Gardens and its nearby hiking trails. We start with a sketch-in-progress by Chew Yuin-Y, based on Mandy Chee's essay, Of Sweat and Dirt for Ais Kacang: Ruminations About Growing Up and Setting Down Roots in Penang. We follow this with Elaine Lee Yew Mei's musings on how she used to spend her time in the gardens. Musings from the Land of Penang One Better Lah (Excerpt); Elaine Lee Yew MeiOccasionally, my parents would take us to the Youth Park or Botanical Gardens. I especially loved going to Youth Park because of the cascading waterfalls we could swim in. The presence of other children playing and having a good time made the experience even merrier. There was also a small wading pool in Youth Park that was a big hit among the children. Some parents would accompany their young children in the wading pool. We would also bring along our rollerblades to skate inside the skating rink. I remember skating at breakneck speed and showing off my skating skills to an imaginary audience. As I performed my stunts, the audience in my head would cheer loudly followed by thundering applause. The Botanical Gardens offered different forms of pleasures. It had a waterfall with a long flowing stream that we would enter to try to catch the small fishes. We had to tread carefully as it was filled with sharp, slippery rocks. The numerous cuts I sustained was never a determent factor to repeatedly re-enter the stream. There was also a place in the gardens with very steep and high slopes. My sisters and I discovered the joy of laying down on the grass and rolling down those garden slopes. As we made our descent from the top of the hill to the bottom of it, we would be squealing with delight before coming to a screeching halt. Though we would feel pretty nauseated (rolling down the slopes really messes your equilibrium) we would make that climb up the hill again to repeat the same process. There was also a little white stage with iron beams set up for live performances in the Botanical Gardens. I would often get on it and pretend I was giving a live concert in front of a captivated audience. Looking back, I wonder what was running through the minds of those watching me! The only thing I did not like about the Botanical Gardens was the monkeys. They terrified me. The monkeys would move around the gardens in a very intimidating and threatening manner. It was customary of them to patrol the gardens in a group. I was especially terrified of the alpha males that would stare at you with a penetrating gaze so menacing that it felt akin to a hole being bored into your head. I spent my evenings cycling around the neighbourhood and playing with friends either in their houses or in the playground. Some of the games that all the children loved playing were kalitoay and ‘mata and chad’ (police and thieves). There would also be the high jump competition using ropes made out of rubber bands to see who could jump the highest. We would often be out playing till the late evening—our cue to go back home was the sound of Azan Maghrib coming from the Penang State Mosque. Like what you read? Want to read the whole story? Click on the button below to get a copy of the anthology!
When people think about Penang, they tend to remember its UNESCO Heritage Sites, those streets of George Town that are filled with blasts from the past. Walking in that area of Penang, with various street art and trendy cafés, you can truly breathe in the multicultural miasma that comes to life. In this anthology, you will doubtless be able to experience this for yourselves, even if it’s just through the words of others. But what of Penang’s natural heritage? For all that Penang has gone through rapid urbanisation, it still harbours a lot of natural charms. Even on highways, you can see the green of trees or the sparkling blue of the sea. The beach is never too far away and you can always find a green space hiding amidst the glass and steel of modern architecture. While NutMag has never explicitly stated that stories must be set in Penang, this year’s anthology is different. With its theme being Home Groan, the Penang-ness of this year’s NutMag is turned up extra high. This time, I took more care in thinking about my story’s setting. Penang is small, especially when you think exclusively about the island. I’ve heard enough times the joke about how you can never get lost driving here, unless you hit the bridge – because that’s when you know you’ve truly messed up. But humans are creatures of habit, tending to roam more where we are used to. I’m such a creature. Even driving in George Town, that heritage area that’s so popular, I need to have Google Maps open so I don’t end up going around in circles. How was I going to write something new if I only knew those small circles I was used to? In the end, as I find myself doing with my writing of late, I dredged up memories and lessons I learned while studying Environmental Biology in USM. During our first year, all us Bio kids had to live for 5 days in the jungle. We didn’t sleep on the floor or anything – there was food prepared, electricity, plumbing, and even Wi-Fi – but it was definitely a wholly new experience. Every morning, we would leave our base and head to some new ecosystem to learn and explore and discover. It was physically and mentally exhausting (we had homework), but I would give so much to go back to that week of being so close to nature. This isn’t what my story is about. Ash to Ashes is set in Penang National Park, the same ulu place I lived in for 5 days, and there are USM Bio kids involved. That’s about where the similarities end. The smallest National Park in the world Here, I want to share a bit more about the smallest national park in the world. First of all, entrance is free, so you can and should go visit. Hiking there isn’t particularly difficult, but you can spend hours there depending on how far in you want to go. You will see a river, beaches, and, if you keep your eyes open, a myriad of wildlife. The best part? Penang has no land leeches, which I learned to hate during my other fieldtrips. Be sure to bring mosquito repellent, though. If you’re not up for the walk, you can always go on a boat cruise. In the park, you will find yourself overwhelmed by all the things you can do. There is a canopy walkway that stretches 210 meters, just 15 minutes from the entrance. You can go fishing, or just sit on the beach and try to spot some otters. I’ve been lucky enough to do the latter two; wasn’t too successful with the fishing though. The beaches are perfect for a picnic and a swim. There aren’t too many tourists there, unlike at Batu Ferringhi. You can visit the Turtle Conservation Centre at Pantai Kerachut, one of the few places where green turles and olive ridley turtles still land in Penang. Otherwise, you can observe the natural wonder of a meromictic lake, with its upper layer of fresh water and lower layer of sea water. You don’t have to pay the cost of flying to Australia to see the other one. If you find yourself not wanting to leave at the end of the day, you can camp at one of the two campsites ready there. Although this is just a brief overview of the charms of Penang National Park, I hope that I’ve at least piqued your interest in it. If I haven’t, perhaps this excerpt of my story can do better. Ash to Ashes (Excerpt); Celine WuThe sound of laughter breaks the silence of the morning and sends more than a couple of birds into flight. From my perch on a high branch of a tree, I look around for the source of the disturbance. There, along the paved trail, is a large group of young adult humans, walking and sweating and chatting. Entranced by them, I descend from my vantage point and approach the group. Abah and Mama always told me to stay away from the treeline, ever wary of that long strip cleared of trees and other growing things. I never understood that edict and still do not. The humans cannot see us, after all. What is there to fear, then? Still, I try to be an obedient child and keep from that area—staying at least 15 metres away at all times, in fact. But twice a year, when the students trek in and out of Penang’s National Park, I can’t help but go against that rule. I follow them from the safety of the shadows cast by the forest’s canopy. I have to slow my pace to keep abreast of them. The uneven earth below my feet, veined through with tree roots and obscured by leaf litter, is more familiar to me than the back of my hand. The students have more trouble, even if they are walking on pavement. The trail is old, with cracks where grasses sprout and tiny pools collect brownish water. The humans avoid these, which confuses me even though I have observed it for years. Are those features not also part of the path? Do they not give the trail its character? I giggle at their foolishness. The humans revel in the sudden breeze rifling through the leaves overhead. The group climbs up moss-covered stone steps, cross damp wooden bridges that bring the tops of their heads high enough that low-hanging branches caress them. They wade across a narrow and shallow brook, compressing the golden sand beneath their feet. The students complain about and swat at mosquitoes that seek them out and alight on any patch of skin bared to the air. It takes almost half an hour from when I joined their troupe for them to reach their destination. That’s longer than usual, I think. I watch as the tired students’ eyes brighten when they see the building nestled not far from the beach. Some rush towards a rope swing, ignoring their teacher’s call to go to the pier and help unload their luggage. I have spirited myself up the tree where the swing is secured. Many of the students are on the beach now. Only a few of them make their way to the pier. A plump girl exits the trail, breathing heavily, her T-shirt soaked through. The teacher following behind her asks if she is okay. My features twist into a sympathetic grimace. Ah, so this pack has someone slowing them down. It is strange that the girl doesn’t have friends asking after her as well. “Lia!” My ponderings are cut off by the shock of being called. “You better go home now before I tell your parents!” I can’t meet the eyes of the langur mother chiding me. She is right. I shouldn’t be here at all. And she’s taking a risk herself to warn me. “Yes, Makcik. I’m going right now!” Under the watchful gaze of Makcik Langur, I don’t dare to dither. But at the same time, I desperately want to stay, even for just a bit longer, to observe the humans in their fun. Want to read the whole story? Click on the button below to get a copy of the anthology!
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