She was the daughter of a wealthy man, sent to Europe to learn about literature, wine, dancing, and meeting people from all over the world. She smoked Gitanes that she stole from her mother's purse, wore Biba and Mary Quant, and read Jackie magazine and Barbara Cartland romances, while picking up European languages as a duck took to water.

He was a clerk that had worked his way up in the consulate, and arrived at his newly assigned post, bewildered and yet excited. Meeting her at one of the many parties the consulate hosted was like being hit by a tropical meteor. She was not beautiful she wore thick spectacles and had a bad perm, but she made him laugh and feel like a prince.

He spoke little English and no Malay. She learned his language. He was Spanish. She was Malay. He was Catholic. She was Muslim. They fell in love and got married.

It was the Seventies.

Social cachet

It is later on that such unions are debated and seen by thinkers as the Malay way of lording over the colonialists, by marrying one of their kind and converting them to their religion and culture. In the 1970s, marrying a white person was a message to the establishment, that you're open-minded, you're successful, you're international , and then you'd see doors opening for you. Yes. It gave you that clout.

But back to their story, which is so much more interesting than discourses on colonialism.