The longhouse chronicles

Former politician Tan Sri Datuk Amar Leo Moggie recalls his life in a memoir, writes Elena Koshy

THERE’s something remarkable about a life well lived. Of the stories brimming within and lessons learnt. Of paths taken and trails blazed. It was the 13th century Persian poet Rumi who said: “Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” Is he perhaps debunking his own myth? I ask and Tan Sri Datuk Amar Leo Moggie anak Irok throws his head back and chuckles mirthfully.

In the shadowed recesses of Moggie’s home, the muted rays of the sun flood onto an array of pastries and coffee cups arranged on a wide dining table. He turned 77 last October and at first glance, looks just like any elderly man, diminutive in stature, clad in a pair of slacks and a plain white shirt. And yet he’s so much more. Moggie’s glittering career in civil service and politics was hallmarked by his profound interest in the welfare of his constituents, and when he rises to greet me, it’s that immediate sense of humanity that he radiates.

The smile is quite simply, luminous and exudes warmth. His hand reaches to clasp mine in a firm handshake, in a way you suspect, it has reached out over a lifetime. And his eyes, crinkled at the edges, radiate humour. Tentative, inquisitive eyes as though all the rock-like certainties of youth have been smoothed over life’s tide, replaced by a kind of permanent question mark. Perhaps that’s what wisdom brings: uncertainty.