Reflections on a Hokkien Opera
Tonight, I passed a traditional Chinese opera troupe performing at Hong Lim Complex at Chinatown. There were no more than ten elderly persons in the audience and I stood to look for a while and I felt a little sorry for the actors performing to an absent crowd.
It struck me that this was a cultural heritage that my generation has lost - we have traded our history for trappings of a modern society. Perhaps the eagerness to adopt and to learn the ways of the West have left the overseas Chinese a little poorer in spirit. Would I have chosen differently? Maybe.
It was not a choice that I made conciously. The language I was brought up in, the education I received, even the religion I profess: it all predisposed me to a view that is predominantly foreign to my own heritage. Now, perhaps, I can resign myself as a cultural desert - devoid of any links to my past beyond my immediate parents (or maybe my grandparents).
It is no surprise than that I found the Hokkien opera strange to behold. The language is vaguely familiar, but the costumes, the music, the strange gods - all seem like a world away.
Yet, it is from this soil that my forefathers were raised. It is probably too late for me to seek an education in Chinese cultural (especially since I have barely made any progress in the language).
I perceive a desire in myself to seek out my origins. Perhaps it would be a chance to understand my inner self and the archetypes that have preceded me. Perhaps it is seeking an anchor in a world that is changing so rapidly that much is being lost in the name of pursuing progress.
It would be a challenging task to find out about my past. Already my grandparents have all passed. Perhaps there is some history that I can eke out of my parents and their siblings - before memories fade and my enthusiasm flags.