Kasut manek

It felt almost like I had existential crisis as a pre-schooler.

Day in and day out, I crawled around the living room, eating, taking naps in between the day and staring at bugs that have landed in the room. Then in the evening when my parents return home from work, they will put on their favourite Cantonese drama and then soon it is bedtime. The cycle loops on and on, every single day felt like nothingness and I wondered about what my purpose on this earth was. The last time I describe this recollection of my childhood to a friend, he laughed. How could a 5 years old felt so deeply and felt so lost about life?

But I did. I really did, it wasn’t a joke, I thought to myself.

It did not help that my elder brother was full of zest and imagination in comparison. He was creative even when arguing with my parents. When he got lectured for leaving a spilled glass of water on the floor, he simply retorted nonchalantly, “The water will evaporate anyway.”. That smart alec of a comment did not go well with my Asian parents who were adamant in ensuring that we were brought up with discipline, responsibility, and respect for elderly, beliefs that are strongly ingrained in traditional Asian values.

While he ended up getting punished more than I ever was, his inquisitiveness and creative little mind probably helped him to find his passion in life much earlier than most people I have known. He sketched beautiful pictures of animals as a kid, by 12 he was a serious birdwatcher, through college he was a straight As student, got a PhD in Ecology and is now working as a Wildlife Policy Manager. He had one dream and he chased it without hesitation.

My existential crisis continued through my school days, there was little that I love in school, there was nothing that I was good at and I fared marginally in all my subjects. I was neither the good kid who was well-loved by teachers nor the notorious ones who teachers cannot help but to remember. I was just the introverted kid spacing out in my thoughts at the back of the class half the time. Throughout the years, 2 teachers did actually pick up my daydreaming habit. One of my secondary school chemistry teachers who had a knack for insulting the class often called me out for the one who has mentally “drifting away to Siberia”.

I am not sure why Siberia but I guess it was because the country was far far away from where we are.

I have a loving paternal grandma, my “Ah Ma” and a doting maternal aunt, “Ah Yee” who were talented in crafting. They were experts in everything that a pair of scissors could do - sewing, knitting, gardening, cooking, crocheting, dressmaking, cross-stitching and the list goes on. Whenever I was left in their care, they shared their enthusiasm with me. For once, I felt intrigued by something, I love the vibrant colour and the idea of how simple moves could put together such a beautiful piece.

However, there was one problem, I did not seem to have the flair or patience that they both did, I have never been able to sit through a project and often, my daydreaming meant that I would lost count of my stitches and I gave up all over again. As such, I had never completed even the simplest of cross stitch set that I have gotten.

Fast forward 20 years later, I still love handicrafts, but my short span of attention meant I could only take up simpler projects, such as making farewell cards - a side job that was delegated to me by my colleagues in our company that had high employee turnover rate. I enjoyed researching about the things my colleagues like, have it designed on the card and seeing their smiles when they received it. Moreover, it also meant I could officially do crafts at work without being called out for slacking.

In 2017, after working in that same company for 7 years, I started struggling with work due to overwhelming office politics and my conflicting beliefs from the organisation. I wanted to get out of the rat race and find a different perspective in life, perhaps I was just running away from something or perhaps it was just midlife crisis. With my partner who was leaving for UK, my bare minimal savings, and a rough map of my plausible options as a 30 years old, I planned my “escape route”, emailed several potential professors and registered for a doctorate course 6758 miles away from the country I call home. I was definite that my mundane and meaningless corporate life would change for the better instantaneously when I reach the UK and build a new life with the man I love.

As romantic and as purposeful as it may have sounded, the plan crumbled before it even started. Months before I was about to leave, my parents fell ill one after another, my dad lost his job due to his health condition, the façade of my 2 years relationship started peeling off exponentially and I realised that it would be difficult to bring Olive, a chinchilla and my best friend of 10 years along to the UK. I was caught in between, and it did not help that I had to bear the burden and criticism of leaving my family when they needed me the most.

By the time I started THE dream life in UK, the partner that I used to have so much fun with became someone I did not know anymore, we parted ways and I had to face the brute of many uncertainties on my own. A new life, new apartment and new work, all alone in a foreign country. After the night he send me the last message and we said our final goodbye, my body was paralysed with shock, I sat by my table till dawn with random thoughts running through my mind. This persisted on and off for months and I developed insomnia. When I was so exhausted and could finally fall asleep, I would have reoccurring nightmares and woke up sobbing into the darkness. The dull ache in my heart just would not leave me alone.

Even so, I was not ready to return home crying for one very simple reason, I did not want to look like a loser. Hence every day I fight with whatever energy I had left to keep afloat. I looked for self-help strategies in books and online. Slowly but miraculously, I started crawling out of the mud-filled hole I was in. During those days when I felt compellingly strong and difficult emotions, I found solace in art therapy, and in journaling which allowed me to express myself freely.

During yet another sleepless night, I came across a random documentary on “kasut manek”, also known as the Peranakan beaded slippers. Peranakans are an ethnic group formed when Chinese immigrant marries Malay wives in South East Asia. As a result of such a union, the Peranakan culture has interesting elements from both Chinese and Malay background. In those days, Peranakan woman are often homemakers and my perception of them is this strong, independent and resourceful woman who takes care of everything within a family. Traditionally they will be evaluated by their needlework and cooking ability and kasut manek is one of such needlework craft that a Peranakan woman will master. The food, their sarong kebaya (traditional dresses) and their embroidery are ever so meticulously designed and hand made.

The documentary reminded me of the ones that my Ah Ma made when she was still alive. I was ever so fascinated by the intricate looking slippers but was never taught how to make one. The thought of making one swarmed over me that day, but the thought of it also thrilled and distracted me from my sorrow. Before I knew it, I was scrolling through all the kasut manek designs I could find online. There were so many questions in my head on where to start and how to start and I was not sure if I could even complete what I might start. I decided I should give it a shot anyway. For the whole time I was crafting, I was always making something for a family or a friend but never for myself. I enjoyed making someone’s day but what about something that shouts me, for me?

I did not find any design that resonate with me and hence, decided to design it from scratch. I recalled the graph papers I have seen in Ah Ma’s house, so I got some and coloured each square to form the pattern. Ah Yee taught me some basic cross-stitching stitches before so I reckon beaded shoes would be similar except that a glass bead will be added to every stitch that goes through the fabric. I designed the traditional beaded slippers with a modern twist, carrying an asymmetric design of my childhood pets – a black and a white bunny one on each side of the slippers and incorporating the handicraft lessons taught by my grandma and aunt.

For me, this project symbolised the loved one that I have lost and reminded that I should do something for myself. Knowing my inattention tendencies, I gave myself a longer timeline of 3 years to finish working on this and I told the depressed me then, that 3 years from now, I will celebrate success wearing this pair of slippers that I made lovingly for myself. I will be a woman of strength just like the Peranakan woman.

This story will not be ending yet with happily ever after, at least not just yet. My beaded slippers are still work-in-progress, but I am determine to finish it. At times, it seems like the work stemmed from a silly idea and felt like a never-ending process (especially during times when I accidentally flip over the arrays of tiny beads and had to crouch over the floor for hours to retrieve them). Many other crafters would have finished it in a couple of months and moved on to a new project. Regardless of that, I am committed to finishing this self-care project and am reminded that every stitch on this piece accompanied me through very dark times and would have not been possible without the fond memories of my beloved ones.

In time of intense despair and loneliness, this work signifies for me – newfound joy, strength, hope and love.