This is Malaya. Everything takes a long, a very long time, in Malaya. Things get done, occasionally, but more often they don't, and the more in a hurry you are, the quicker you break down.
One should never condemn what one cannot understand.
A family is a burial mound of its own doings and sayings.
People never think about words, they only feel them.
Persecution matures young rebels.
I really can't hate more than 5 or 10 years. Wouldn't it be terrible to be always burdened with those primary emotions you had at one time?