Reflections in a Golden Ear



I still recall a discussion I had with my Singaporean friend about Chinese migration to Peninsular Malaya in the late 19th century via the seaport of the Lion City. He also shared his family's history—how his ancestors began by selling noodles (Hokkien Mee) in Ipoh, Malaysia.

"Of course, your kinsfolk in Manila were into those things as well," I remarked. Then I added, "They did the dirty jobs the Spaniards and native Filipinos wouldn't do. Name it—they did it… even cleaning ears! I realized that some of the wealthiest families in the Philippines today trace their ancestry to Hokkien Chinese."

"Oh, they were a bunch of lonely migrants!" my friend interjected. He then continued, "If you talk about the barbers and ear cleaners of Kuala Lumpur, I know the street where they had their so-called shops. And they had apprentices—can you believe that? They took in new arrivals from the mainland, vagabonds with no means of living, and turned them into trainees—or slaves. In the evenings, lonely migrants would walk around the suburbs of KL. They say that in Petaling Jaya, Chinese workers used to dress as women. No, don’t get the wrong idea—it wasn’t anything repulsive. It was just simple fun, with a Chinese ensemble playing along."

I told him about Schurz’s The Manila Galleon, where the author mentioned an entrepreneurial Chinese craftsman in early Spanish Manila who performed prosthetic work on damaged noses—noses eaten away by injuries. The artificial nose he fashioned was made of wood. My Singaporean friend fell silent, perhaps even shocked. Still, I told him, "Check the book!"

Our conversation meandered, touching on topics from Tunku Abdul Rahman to Lee Kuan Yew. Then, suddenly, he shifted gears: "I feel it’s time Malaysia finally dropped those last three letters—SIA—and reverted to 'Malaya.' God, those three letters stand for Singapore, don’t you know?"

I replied, "I don't know. They hold you hostage with water, right?"

The talk ended on a see-you-again note—a humid evening filled with talk of noses and ears, Hokkiens and Filipinos. A smorgasbord of memories one cannot simply ignore. That Marcel Proust state of mind—where you fight to keep the candle burning while your being struggles to stay awake.

I saw this picture, and I recalled that conversation in Singapore. Now the question remains: Who is cleaning whose ear now?

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