"Ah, September! You Are The Doorway To The Season That Awakens My Soul... But I Must Confess That I Love

Feeling rather ouija-bored myself these days...

The Nashville Tennessean, Nashville, Tennessee, April 7, 1920

Enrique of Malacca

Circumnavigating the world is no easy feat, especially when the world’s geography was so uncertain in the past. And while the world celebrates Magellan’s effort and success, Malaysians take pride in its success in honour of an entirely different person, known simply as Enrique of Malacca or Henry the Black.

Statue of Enrique in the Maritime Museum of Malacca, Malacca City, Malaysia. Photo obtained from Wikipedia.

A voyager of Malay descent, Enrique met Magellan when the Portuguese conquered Malacca in 1511, putting Enrique under Magellan’s workforce as his slave. In 1519, Enrique was enlisted in Magellan’s fleet to set sail around the Earth primarily due to his ability to speak the Malay language (which was the lingua franca of the region at the time). He accompanied Magellan throughout the expedition until the Battle of Mactan and Magellan’s death, after which he left the Magellan expedition on 1st May 1521 with the presumed intention of heading back to his homeland.

The route taken by the Magellan expedition, with milestones highlighted. From Cebu, had Enrique returned back to his home in Malacca, he would have been the first person to circumnavigate the Earth. Photo obtained from Wikipedia

Though there are no concrete records of Enrique after he left the expedition, there lies the possibility that he may have been the first person to circumnavigate the globe instead of the Magellan expedition. In order to claim the title, Enrique would have to reach his homeland which is considered HIS starting point instead of going back to Spain before September 1522, which is when the Magellan expedition entered Spain through Sanlúcar de Barrameda, their starting point when they first started the journey. However, as no record ever made light of this matter, it is currently unknown whether Enrique ever did make his way back to his homeland or lost his way somewhere.

Cebu island in the Philippines. The last place where Enrique was recorded alive after he left the Magellan expedition. Photo from Wikipedia.

While the truth of Enrique’s fate may present itself in the future, it is still a national pride that a native of Malaysia from Malacca managed to be a part of one of the most historical maritime expeditions of the early 1500s.

Book Review: Strange and Paranormal Tales of Malacca by Dennis de Witt

Title: Strange and Paranormal Tales from Malacca

Author: Dennis de Witt

ISBN: 9789671668610

For locals and interested international readers, De Witt's compilation offers a unique insight into the type of magical fantasy and monstrous wonders that exists in Malacca and its surrounding areas. From rock-throwing poltergeists to sea monsters and even mystical old men with the power to stop vehicles from working, De Witt weaves short tales around each subject, enough to inspire awe and curiosity in the readers. The entire book is broken down into three categories:

1421 - 1824 (Malacca Malay Sultanate and the Portuguese and Dutch Colonization Era)

1825 - 1956 (British Colonization Era)

1957 - 2019 (Post-Independent Malacca and the Modern Era)

I will admit that some entries looked much too short and a question kept nagging at the back of my mind: Where's the rest?! Fortunately, as a historian, De Witt keeps a meticulous record of his findings and supplicates each entry with a list of references for further reading. Most of it is newspaper clippings but a few of them are interesting for future reads like Malay Magic by Walter Skeat and The Were-Tiger by Sir Hugh Cliffords.

Overall, this book is a good stepping stone into the world of Malay folklore, particularly Malaccan folktales. Some stories are strange, others have a dash of the paranormal, and some just make you want to find out more.

Happy Hauntings!

A part of being an adult is living with regret and not allowing it to consume you. The older you get, the more mistakes you’ve made, opportunities you’ve missed, people you’ve disappointed. And every day you have to remind yourself to be kind and forgiving of yourself. You accept and love the you from the past and understand that it’s all a part of the process. Then you move on and live your best life, knowing now as old as you feel today, you’ll never be this young again.

“Superstition is a part of the very being of humanity; and when we fancy that we are banishing it altogether, it takes refuge in the strangest nooks and corners, and then suddenly comes forth again, as soon as it believes itself at all safe.”

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Maxims and Reflections

Going to a library with someone you love and sitting in a corner with your head propped up on their shoulder while you both are reading books in peace and calm is the most intimately wholesome thing ever.

Kan- wa ma kan.

It was- and it was not.

It's how all the stories start. They tell you of what was and what wasn't, but they don't tell you which is which.

Perhaps you are seven. Perhaps you are eight. You ask the sweet, greying hakawati (story crafter) "but a'amu (uncle), was it real?" Your eyes bright with eagerness and hope. And he tells you, his smile never faltering, "kan wa ma kan, my child. It was and it wasn't. Perhaps it is real. Perhaps there were caverns and theives and treasure. Perhaps there were empires and warriors and charmers. Perhaps it was the land of mysteries- the very land that Shahrazad spoke of. And perhaps it was not."

You close your eyes to better imagine the stories the old man tells. What a wild thing it was, your imagination- and even wilder his was, for the stories he crafted were his own. Flying carpets. Music. Mercenaries. A king's banquet. A marid (jinn) to make your wishes come true. "But was it?" You ask. Desperately hoping it was. And more so wishing it is. "It was and it wasn't," your hakawati says smiling.

You can smell the sweet smoke from the altars that burn ever so steadily; consuming an offering to gods long forgotten. You can hear the echoes of music long since silenced. You see the dances of people long dead. You know their stories. "But was it?" You press further. "It was and it wasn't," the old man says, his smile never fading.

You're out in the golden dunes of Arabia. A glistening object catches your eye and you take hold of it- and you are knocked back by the force of the marid storming out. "Shobeik lobeik. A'bdak bein edeik. Your wish is my command." He says. But you have no desire for anything other than answers "was it real?" You ask, but he disintegrates into whatever nothingness he came from, leaving you asking yourself whether or not it was. Whether or not you are.

You are growing up. You are now thirteen. You have yet to stop asking "was it?" Your father says it was not. Your brother says it was not. Your friend says it was not. But you are wild and stubborn. You say "but what if it was?" And they laugh you off.

Four years later and you are seventeen; and the raging fire of the stories' magic within you dims to embers. Your hakawati has long since passed away. You keep his smile tucked into a fold so deep in your heart you nearly forget about it. And you stop asking for stories. You stop asking "was it?" And what is even worse, though, is that you start to believe that perhaps, after all, it was not. That it never was.

But I am here to tell you this; it was. You spoke to the marid. You heard the music. You saw the people dancing and you smelled the offerings to their gods. It might be so deep within you, as deep as your beloved hakawati's smile is buried. And I want you to know that you, now, have your answer.

Le Manoir du Diable (1896)

Considered the earliest horror film ever made, Le Manoir du Diable, French for House of the Devil, is an 1896 silent film by George Méliès about two wandering cavaliers and how the Devil played tricks on them.

Far from being terror-inducing, the entire 3-minute short film (quite ambitious at the time) was actually a comic sketch meant to evoke laughter and amusement from its audience, rather than fear. It was presumed lost until the late 1980s when a copy was found again and restored by the New Zealand Film Archives.

‘Our Town’s Libraries’ which I drew for the @nytimes recently… Speaking of libraries, I have a new book out titled REVENGE OF THE LIBRARIANS and I am visiting Brooklyn NY, Philadelphia PA, and Columbus OH with it in the next week. Visit tomgauld.com for details…