In a century-old, UNESCO-listed city, spending a lifetime guarding something does not seem that long. Some people devote their lives to preserving a craft, perfecting a recipe or keeping family memories alive. They etch time into their work, giving the passage of time a tangible form and creating legacies to be cherished across generations.
The Teochew Puppet & Opera House has been passed down through five generations; a father-and-son duo keeps paper craft alive, while a mother-daughter bond is tied together by a century-old shop. These are uniquely Penang stories, woven through time by those who guard its soul.
Generations have passed since Chinese immigrants first journeyed south. Now, in this centuries-old UNESCO-listed city, the story of a Teochew opera family—stretching across five generations—awaits its telling.
Originating in Chaozhou, Guangdong, Teochew opera is part of a rich tapestry of traditional arts, including iron-rod puppetry, Teochew gongs and Teochew music. “By the late 1700s, Teochew opera had already taken root in Malaysia,” said Goh Hooi Ling, third-generation keeper of the Teochew Opera Hall. Her great-grandfather brought a Chaozhou opera troupe to Malaya (later Malaysia), planting the seeds of Teochew culture locally. Through iconic troupes like “Lao Sai Yong Hong”, “Kim Giak Low Choon”, Yu Li Teochew Opera, and today’s Teochew Puppet & Opera House, this legacy branched out and flourished.
Goh’s grandmother, Yeoh Cheng Im, was a renowned Teochew opera star in 1950s Nanyang. Her mother, Toh Ai Hwa, served as a musician in the all-female ensemble. Goh herself founded the Kim Giak Low Choon Teochew Puppet Troupe in 2009 and established the Teochew Puppet and Opera House in 2014, each generation carrying the art forward through their efforts.
“I started as a puppeteer from a young age. I had to learn singing and puppetry first. Gradually, in that environment, I began to pick up drumming and yangqin. It wasn’t until my twenties that I returned to study Teochew opera formally,” shared Goh.
“In ancient times, Teochew opera was performed in imperial courts,” shared Goh. “As the art moved into public spaces and blended with religious rituals and folk traditions, it evolved into community performances. But now, with fewer audiences, it has largely become performances for deities and spirits.” This shift, she noted, mirrors the art form's gradual decline locally.
For 74-year-old Toh Ai Hwa, memories remain vivid of troupes rushing between temporary stages. Once a daily reality, now mostly seen during the 7th
lunar month. Those days when Teochew opera thrived, she reflected, belong firmly to the past.
“Back then, we had nothing, no karaoke stages, no television. Everyone just went to watch opera, pulling up chairs by the roadside. Business was booming; we charged one ringgit per person,” Toh explained.
Unlike those who entered the field purely to master a craft, Toh Ai Hwa was born into an opera dynasty; she candidly admitted she joined “just to make a living.” At age twelve, she joined the “Lao Rong Xiu Chun” Teochew Opera Troupe, later taking over its operations in 1989 to establish the “Kim Giak Low Choon” Puppet Troupe. From then on, Teochew opera became her life’s work, weaving a bond through generations.
The death of her father taught Goh a vital lesson: “Don’t wait until it’s too late.” In 2024, to mark her mother’s 61 years in the arts, Goh created the special production “Maestro of Paper Shadows”. This production not only brought Teochew opera back to the professional stage but also cast her mother in the lead role, strengthening their family bonds through art.
From grandmother to mother to Goh’s generation, the art transformed through Penang’s changing times. Now carried by fifth-generation heir Goh Sin Jie, its legacy continues: she mastered gongs and drums at five, singing at seven, debuted onstage at eight, and became the troupe’s lead drummer by twelve, her passion cemented early.
Yet as a teen, being tied to a traditional trade often came with a sense of self-consciousness. Afraid of being teased by friends her age, Goh Sin Jie rarely mentioned it to others. That was, until one day, a friend found out through Facebook and their reaction took her completely by surprise.
“They said it was special that I was amazing for mastering this,” she recalled. Their praise dissolved her teenage hesitations.
With the troupe often on the road performing, it was during backstage breaks that a different kind of bond quietly formed. In their traditionally reserved family, work often meant missing many moments that could have been spent nurturing closer ties. Yet, the wish for one another’s health and happiness continued to hold the family together.
An old city cradles stories of its veteran craftsmen. In George Town’s heart, heritage trades endure, including paper crafting. At Lebuh Macallum’s 358 Custom Effigies Workshop, a father-son bond quietly unfolds through history.
Three decades ago, Koh Ah Bah, founder of 358 Custom Effigies Workshop, came into the craft through a friend’s introduction. When his master passed in 1989, he took the reins, dedicating himself to creating ritual effigies for deity worship, the Hungry Ghost Festival, and funerals.
His son Samm Koh Eng Keat began assisting at age 10 or 11, and over the years, he mastered the craft of paper effigy making. “Back then, I just did whatever Dad told me to do. When you're a paper crafter's son, you’re expected to know the trade; you pick it up just by watching,” he recalled.
After graduating from high school, Samm had no intention of continuing in the family business. The year-round, no-day-off nature of the work did not suit his free-spirited personality, so he chose to walk away. He left the paper craft trade and worked as a baker, but in the end, he could not bear to watch his father work long days alone, so he returned to the family’s craft.
To Samm, his father was always a man of few words, quietly shouldering the heavy responsibility and pressure of raising his children. For someone who once wanted to stay as far away from the trade as possible, Samm has not only become a paper craftsman himself but also branched into other funeral-related businesses — and, in his spare time, he rocks out as a musician.
“My style is more punk, but in a traditional Chinese family, that’s radical rebellion,” Samm admitted. Raised under strict rules, his grandfather forbade playing music at home. Rock ’n’ roll and the funeral trade, such a wildly contrasting mix that anyone hearing it would be taken aback.
“But my dad? He’s always been supportive,” Samm stated firmly. Today, he still plays rock music while working in a trade rooted in tradition, a paper craftsman who shreds guitar riffs. Beneath the rugged, rebellious exterior is a surprisingly meticulous soul.
As for Koh Ah Bah, one of his proudest works was crafting a life-sized paper motorcycle that is now displayed in a museum in the UK. Yet, more than that achievement, what he treasures most is having a son who “really knows how to perform.” Father and son — one still, one in motion. The elder Koh may not be a man of many words, but his pride in his son is impossible to hide.
Paper effigy masters navigate life’s sharpest dualities—life and death, motion and stillness, yin and yang, old and new, what’s discarded and what’s preserved, tradition and innovation. All these stark contrasts seem at odds yet somehow find balance once you have come to terms with them.
Today, the roles have reversed. Once the assistant, Samm Koh has now stepped into his father’s shoes, meeting clients, finishing projects, and taking on the responsibilities his father once held. Through it all, he remains grateful for his father’s unwavering support and the quiet, unspoken love that has always been there.
“In the next life, he’ll be the son, and I’ll be the father.” A promise that, in its simplicity, carries the deepest expression of love between father and son.
While searching for the hidden human stories tucked away in Penang, the scorching sun still blazes overhead. At times like this, nothing feels more satisfying than a sweet, icy treat. Right beside the landmark KOMTAR, Penang Road still thrums with traffic. Many long-standing shops here have closed their doors one after another, but some have managed to hold on through the years. Among them is Kek Seng, a century-old dessert shop renowned for its red bean shaved ice, which still serves the taste that generations have grown accustomed to.
Founded in 1906, this kopitiam remains etched in the memories of Penang locals. Step inside and you’ll still find the architecture from the British colonial era preserved, with a story involving a German war veteran adding even more historical charm to the place.
“On his deathbed, he craved one last taste: Penang’s durian ice cream.” The story goes that German soldier Bonn fell in love at first sight with Annis in Penang. Their first date was right here at Kek Seng, where they shared the shop’s famous durian ice cream. Even after moving to Australia in 1973, the couple would return to Penang from time to time, ordering a bowl of durian ice cream to relive that very first meeting.
The shop traces back to Tung Seng Chong, grandfather of the current owner, Cheow Sow Lei’s husband. Originally selling ice kacang in a school canteen, he partnered with Quah Beh Kek to launch this joint. They named it “Kek Seng” by combining their names. Interestingly, the “Kek Seng” signboard has always been placed inside the shop rather than above its entrance.
“Over a decade ago, we used to hang the signboard outside,” explained Cheow Sow Lei. “But it was stolen and lost for almost sixty years. When we finally got it back, we never dared to put it outside again.”
Founded before Malaysia’s independence, Kek Seng first served British-style afternoon tea. After independence, “the British left, and very few people came for afternoon tea, so we slowly brought in hawker stalls and turned it into a kopitiam,” she said. Newspaper clippings and old photographs line the walls, making history feel close enough to touch — from the elegance of a century ago to today’s bustling neighborhood coffee shop. Through it all, one thing has remained constant: a bowl of durian ice cream with red bean shaved ice.
Even with durian prices climbing year after year, they have stuck to using only the real fruit to preserve the original taste.
Kek Seng is open every single day of the year, so that Penangites who can only return on holidays can still get a taste of home. But that also means Cheow Sow Lei has almost no days off, something her daughter notices all too well, and she wishes her mother could rest more.
Today, Kek Seng is lovingly run by Cheow Sow Lei and her daughter. When envisioning its future, Cheow’s wish is simple: for her daughter to find a small space, sell her ice cream along with their signature red bean shaved ice, and carry on the Kek Seng name. “Because those two words represent our red bean ice,” she said.
Though her daughter hesitated to promise succession, when she described her vision for the future, it is almost uncanny how closely it mirrors her mother’s: a small tea shop serving only ice cream and red bean ice. That unspoken understanding between them, built over years of supporting each other, is quietly moving.
Before leaving Penang, one last spoonful of this century-old red bean shaved ice lingers on the tongue, a taste and a memory that belong to this land.
Reposted in full from The Interview website