The Ballad of Malacca - Book II

A continued saga
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The Kebaya, a classic in design only, for the execution of every line and fold were transcendent. Malayan heritage elevated to high fashion-marking them as the artisans responsible for this transformation of tradition into art.

"Good heavens," one British matron whispered to her companion, her voice carrying more shock than admiration. "The Princess is wearing village clothing to a Christmas Ball."

"Village clothing?" The retort came from a French diplomat's wife, whose Parisian gown suddenly felt ordinary. "My dear, look closer. Clearly an artisan's hand was behind that. Look at the weave-those motifs aren't printed, they're sung into the fabric. It hugs her like it was born on her skin, yet flows like the ocean itself. That's not provincial. It's haute couture at its finest."
The first woman's face flushed as she realized her designer gown, for all its European sophistication, had been rendered invisible by the Princess's confident embrace of her own heritage. Around them, other guests were beginning to take notice, conversations dying as heads turned to follow the royal party's progress across the marble floor.

When reporters from the Singapore Free Press approached the Princess with notebooks and cameras ready, she smiled with the particular satisfaction of someone whose calculated risk had paid dividends beyond her expectations.

"Your Highness, your ensemble tonight is quite... distinctive. Stunning, I might add. Would you tell our readers about your choice?"

The Princess's smile deepened as she gestured gracefully toward Swee Eng and Mei Ying. "These remarkable artisans said something to me yesterday that I shall never forget. They told me, 'We create what our hearts know to be true.' Tonight, I wear the truth of who we are-not an imitation of who others think we should become."