Walking, one sunny morning, wandering George Town [1] I stumble fumble into a kopitiam [2]. “Do not spit on the floor” one sign screamed. Another, “Please pay when drinks are served,” the first sentence calm, practically murmured. Followed by — no gap, practically an interdiction on any space for thought —, “Thank you”: ah, behind not prohibitions but courtesies be where Imperium sentencings lie. Beatings, canings, nooses, draped in politesse. 

Just a few steps down, a mural. I look; I think me he looks at.

Portrait of an ironsmith, local legend [3]. Mainstay of Lorong Toh Aka. Gangster Lane, a friend whispers to me: from times past heady with opium, largesse of The East India Company. His eyes, accusing, they seem unwilling to be locked into a painting, silenced, framed.

Immured.

Listen carefully; you might still hear hammerings on iron — shaping making reshaping creating making. Reminding us tools we be not. 

Notes (yes, there be always music):

[1] George Town is the capital of the Malaysian state of Penang. It was established as an entrepôt by Francis Light in 1786, becoming the first British settlement in Southeast Asia. In 1826, it was made capital of the Straits Settlement before ceding this administrative position to Singapore in 1832.

George Town was named after King George III. 

Her actual name is Tanjung Penaga. 

[2] A kopitiam is what a coffee shop — where meals and beverages are served — is called in Malaysia, Singapore, and parts of South East Asia where Chinese languages are spoken. It is a portmanteau of kopi (‘coffee’ in various Malay languages) and tiam / 店 (‘shop’ in the Chinese languages of Hakka, Hainanese, Hokkien, and Teochew).

In many ways, kopitiams are secondary heirs to street food vendors (or hawkers, if you prefer). In the 1950s and ‘60s — officially due to concerns of hygiene; but also to questions of taxes — many street hawkers were consolidated in hawker centres (which as the name implies were where said hawkers were gathered in a single, covered, space). Some of the more economically successful hawkers eventually purchased smaller privately-owned venues, leasing out space to other hawkers: many of these owners ran the drinks stalls, serving kopi (amongst other beverages), which may have lent the kopitiam its moniker.  

Many who have had personal experiences of street hawkers would say kopitiams are a muted inheritance. One might say a certain immuring had taken place.*

[this note owes a great debt of thanks to a conversation with my dear friend, the Singaporean poet Lim Lee Ching, whom I consider one of the finest savants on all things food]

*if one were so inclined, one might also hear this notion resound whenever traversing museums and galleries: that is, the question of ‘what happens when muses are enframed, made to serve galleys, strung up on and kept within walls?’.

[3] The work of art in question here is a mural by Vincent Phang (himself hailing from Bayan Lepas, Penang) in tribute to Chong Saik Pow, a blacksmith who crafted pivotal anchors, who had his workshop on Lorong Tok Aka.

I have chosen not to provide an image in the hopes that you will craft it in your mind’s eye: yes, in all of its variations. After all, a work of art shines in an encounter with its irreducible singularity, thus absolute multiplicity. Should you, though, wish to see it, you can find one such incarnation here.*

* “You don’t take a photograph. You make a photograph.” (Alfredo Jaar).

…

Jeremy Fernando reads, writes, and makes things. His most recent work, Dinner for One: recipes, paintings, photographs, tales — a paean to all things delicious, made in collaboration with his dear friend, fellow midnight supper conspirator, and realist figurative painter, Sara Chong — can be found here.