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A MASSIVE explosion shattered the stillness of the night. In the early hours of June 6, 1980, a fire broke out at a South Port godown stocked with chemicals and fertilisers. The resulting chemical combustion forced the urgent evacuation of about 3,000 residents from their homes that night.

IT begins, as many Malaysian stories do, with a question of belonging. Not the performative kind waved through patriotic parades, but the type that lingers in daily life — in accents and surnames, in food passed down from grandmothers, and in the silence that sometimes greets difficult conversations.

It’s raining when I arrive at Alliance Française, nestled along Lorong Gurney — a quiet retreat tucked into the thrum of central Kuala Lumpur. The drizzle is steady, and for a moment, I pause at the entrance, wondering if I should turn back. But curiosity pulls me forward into this intimate cultural haven.

TOO often, salespeople are looked down upon. This is unwise because our economic health — as individuals, businesses or nations — rises and falls on the effectiveness of salespeople.