Melizarani T.Selva
Issue 4: TOAST, September 2025
Each time I return from Singapore, my father looks at my hands first. They are hardly ever empty but my hands only matter when they are carrying the one item he pines for, longs for, dreams about and swears that Malaysia does not have. California Raisin Gardenia Bread.
Available at any properly stocked FairPrice, this sliced bread pockmarked with raisins, dressed in purple plastic packaging must never be confused with its inferior counterpart, Sunshine Raisin Bread. It is only inferior because my father said so. He claims that non-Gardenia varieties are dry and the raisins aren’t as generously included. Who am I to deny his data? Who am I to question his faith? He who has consumed raisin bread longer than I have been alive. He who believes in both God and Gardenia to provide comfort in unequal measure.
I have mastered the art of ferrying sliced bread across the Singapore-Malaysia border. There is a specific art of carrying something so deceivingly fragile. it cannot be clutched too close to the body as the slices of bread are forever determined to retain the hard impression of any surface it is pressed against. The loaf must survive the light or bus ride without arriving like it had been “punched in the face”, as my father would say. I, the daughter with an unending duty to fulfill, have learnt how to prevent this outcome through rigorous study on the integrity of tote bags.
To carry a loaf of Gardenia California Raisin bread, a bag must:
- Have a cardboard base with matching surface area as the base of the loaf, to avoid the bread sliding from side to side.
- Come with a short handle to resist the temptation of swinging the bag onto one’s shoulder or sealing it tightly with one’s armpit.
- Constitute another pillow-like entity to balance the weight, ideally another loaf.
Bags like these are few and far between but I have since acquired a suitable bread bag, just as I have identified a list of reliable outlets that stock the Gardenia California Raisin Bread. This too, comes as a result of an error in judgment. One time, I made the mistake of leaving the task of buying bread to the last minute, thinking I could try my luck at 7 Eleven before heading to Terminal 3. I was wrong. I felt guilty. So, I bought airport-ready Bengawan Solo Pandan Chiffon cake instead. My father conveyed his disappointment by having a single slice and storing the rest of the cake in the fridge, for a “later” that never came.
I am not alone in my endeavour to acquire and ferry Gardenia bread across the immigration border. In fact, I am merely a bringer of a prized souvenir in comparison to the invisible cartel network that services the Semenanjung-Sarawak border. For West Malaysians like myself, it is an unwritten etiquette to carry Gardenia Classic White Bread when visiting anyone in East Malaysia. It is a deeply ingrained border envy that has morphed into a cultural practice. It bonds us as a nation. Not all Malaysians have served in the army, but all of us have undergone a Gardenia bread crisis of some variety.
The story goes that Gardenia has two factories in Malaysia. One in “KL” (more accurately: Selangor) and one in Sabah. The bakery in Sabah distributes the bread to Sarawak and all parts of Borneo while the Selangor bakery serves the Peninsular. However, their bread is not the same, in look, taste or even price. Though both franchises are entitled to the use of the brand name, their licensing agreement is such that they do not have claim to the same recipe.
To distinguish between East and West Malaysia Gardenia white bread, there are three ways:
- The packaging of the “KL” one uses the word ‘Classic’ while the Sabah one uses the same word in phonetically Bahasa spelling ‘Klasik’
- The price of the Sabah one is three times more than the “KL” one
- The Sabah one “tastes like cardboard”, according to a legion of Redditors.
Source: Iloveborneo.my: ‘Mengapa Orang Sabah Sarawak Lebih Suka Borong Roti Gardenia Dari Semenanjung Malaysia’ / Why Sabah Sarawak People Prefer Gardenia From West Malaysia
My first and most memorable encounter of the Sabah variant was during national service in Tambunan. Our calories were counted and our bread was pre-portioned. We had to eat it, even if it was too dry to bear. We dipped it in bubur kacang hijau (green bean soup) to soften the dietary requirement. I recall how it crumbled so quickly upon being ripped in half. Yet none of these memories are as searing as the sight of “KL” Gardenia bread at Kota Kinabalu airport. Hard case American tourister check-in bags unzipped immediately at Arrivals, revealing loaves of bread packed tightly like gold bars in a treasure chest, relatives and friends flocking around the person who had just returned from the Peninsular, eagerly eyeing the “KL” Gardenia loaves being fished out, one by one, into their hands, to avoid further risk of being squished. Joy like this is few and far between.
Ferrying Gardenia bread across the border is a love language often ridiculed by ICA. The number of times I have been questioned “miss, Malaysia don’t have bread ah?” is more than all the slices stacked together in a single loaf of Gardenia California Raisin bread. 10, to be exact. I smile politely each time I send the bread through the scanner. I laugh along with them. I think to myself, isn’t this the same energy as Singaporeans smuggling Ramly Burger via the JB-SG land crossing, but I know they’ll never quite understand. There is courtesy and there is bread-buying.
In Malay, there is a poetic terminology for souvenirs or gifts one brings when visiting a loved one: buah tangan. It crudely translates to “fruits of the hand”, ultimately to signal that one should never arrive with empty hands. In my father’s house, there is a poetic understanding about items requested from the other side of the border. As long as it is within one’s capacity to fulfill, my father encourages us to fulfill, especially because he “…did not ask for gold bars”. He is not entirely wrong. Both languages, be it Malay or my father’s ways of being strive to declare one resounding statement, “I thought of you”. In spite of borders and limitations, I thought of you enough to give you exactly what you want most because it means everything to you. Or simply, I love you too much to say aloud so I buy you bread.
With both hands, I buy, bag, carry and deliver Gardenia California Raisin Bread from Singapore to my father’s hands in Selangor. He conveys his joy by immediately placing two fresh slices in the toaster, no matter the hour the loaf arrives. He bites into it and swears to me the Singapore bread is better. I believe him. Just as I believe that this is the most profound way of loving a person.
Melizarani T.Selva is a Malaysian spoken word poet, writer, and playwright, with stories published by Penguin, Mekong Review, and PR&TA Journal. Her first book, ‘Taboo’ is a poetic interrogation of the Malaysian Indian Identity. She is the co-editor of ‘The Second Link – A Malaysia-Singapore Literary Anthology’ by Marshall Cavendish. Her debut play ‘Kudumbam’ was staged as part of the 24-Hour Playwriting Competition winners showcase by T:>Works Singapore. Most recently, her play ‘Kathi,’ on the themes of mothering, migranthood and digital extremism, completed a dramatised read produced by The Necessary Stage in November 2024. Presently, she is writing new work for the stage with Wild Rice Theatre’s Writers Group, Singapore. Find her @melizarani
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