Illustration by Lim Zhen Ping

What exactly is “FLAME”?

Depending on who you ask in the School of Biosciences, it’s either a mentoring initiative, a team-building night, or, as one senior told me, “a spark to light up the fire in your heart.” On 12 November at Bellevue, Taylor’s University School of Biosciences (TUSOB) Club turned that spark into a lively evening of science-themed games, campus adventures, and unexpected connections. I arrived slightly anxious (introvert instinct), but by the end, I understood exactly what that “flame” was supposed to mean.

Photo by Taylor’s University School of Biosciences (TUSOB) Club

Registration kicked off at 4 PM, where participants were greeted with TUSOB’s mascot keychains and stickers—small but instantly morale-boosting souvenirs. Before the event officially began, the club announced the winner of their T-shirt design competition. In TUSOB fashion, committee members transformed the stage into a mini catwalk, proudly showing off the newly designed shirts and setting an energetic tone for the rest of the evening.

Instead of the usual round-the-circle introductions, the event opened with something far more chaotic: a warmup dance session to Big Bang’s Bang Bang Bang. Even lecturers from the School of Biosciences joined in, proving that coordination (or the lack of it) was a universal bonding tool.

Then came the first major icebreaker: participants drew paper slips labelled A, T, G, C, and “bonds,” and were tasked with forming DNA strands. For the non-science crowd: A pairs with T using two bonds, while G pairs with C using three. Groups of four to five then sat in circles for structured icebreakers, giving seniors and juniors the chance to mingle naturally within these “DNA” groups.

Photo by Taylor’s University School of Biosciences (TUSOB) Club

Just when everyone thought the activities would calm down, participants linked hands to form one giant “plasma membrane.” The mission is to prevent the chaser (the “bad cell”) from catching the runner (the “good cell”) while also allowing the runner to escape the membrane whenever necessary.

It was loud, confusing, surprisingly strategic, and, most importantly, a lot of fun. Even as someone who usually avoids physical games, I found myself laughing in the middle of the human membrane, getting pulled along by the collective energy.

For the highlight of the night, participants were split into groups again for a campus-wide race. Each team had to hunt for QR codes, follow clues, and complete mini games at various locations. 

Tasks included:

Teams raced through spots like the recharge room, the Food Innovation Lab, the Purple Room, and more, places some students admitted they’d never visited before. The best part was seeing juniors working together with seniors to solve puzzles and navigate the campus. In a school with four programmes (Biomedical Sciences, Biotechnology, Food Science, and Applied Science), this kind of cross-major bonding doesn’t happen every day.

As the race wrapped up, the winning team was announced and rewarded with snacks to share. A small but wholesome prize after an hour of running around campus. One enthusiastic senior even took the mic to thank his groupmates and the committee for the memorable night, which received loud cheers from the crowd.

TUSOB’s advisor, Mr Chan Kai Sze, also delivered a heartfelt message, thanking everyone for participating and expressing his hope that students from different programmes made new friends beyond their usual class circles.

The evening ended with a group photo session, followed by food, drinks, and lingering conversations as people continued to mingle with their newfound connections.

Though FLAME x TUSOB was open only to bioscience students and TUSOB members, the spirit behind it was universal: finding community, stepping out of your comfort zone, and realising that meaningful friendships often start with small moments like dancing badly together or getting lost on a campus race.

As an introvert who was initially scared to join (and definitely not a fan of physical activities), I ended up having a genuinely good time. I met new friends, exchanged advice with juniors, and felt the warmth of a community I didn’t expect to be so welcoming. It reminded me that university life isn’t just about deadlines and lab reports; it’s also about discovering little pockets of joy in places you least expect.

And maybe that’s the quiet message behind FLAME: you don’t need to be loud, sporty, or extroverted to belong somewhere. Sometimes, you just need to show up.

Even if this event was exclusive to bioscience students, it’s a small encouragement for anyone in Taylor’s:  join a club or society that sparks your interest, explore something you’re passionate about, or just try something fun. Uni goes by fast, and these experiences are what make the memories stick a little longer.

And for those curious, TUSOB’s president, Emily Tan Li Hui and vice president Khoo Yu Shen shared a little insider teaser: a Christmas bonding session is on the way. Another chance for students under the School of Bioscience to ignite the flame again.

Stephen King once said that true horror isn’t about monsters—it’s about the familiar turning strange. A buzzing lamp, a quiet lake, a corridor you’ve walked a hundred times. They’re harmless during the day. But after midnight, they begin to feel different, like the world has tilted ever so slightly, and something is watching from the corner.

On this campus somewhere, the stories pass quickly between students. Whispered over cafeteria tables, typed nervously in group chats, laughed off during daylight. Yet they always come back. Here are some of those tales, retold just as they’ve always been—half in jest, half in dread.

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real universities, campuses, or facilities is purely coincidental (…or is it?).


The Fifth Floor
The library closes at nine at night, except for the fifth floor, which is roped off at six sharp. Even when the library is at full capacity, everyone knows not to go past the rope.

But late-night students swear they hear furniture shifting overhead. A chair dragged slowly across tiles. A book thumping shut, though no one has shelved anything there in years.

One boy lifted the rope on a dare. In the day, the air upstairs was ordinary, almost sterile. But now it was heavy, thick with the sour smell of damp carpet. His phone flashlight stuttered over row after row of empty desks and dividers. Except one.

A chair was pulled out, facing the staircase. Waiting.

He heard the faint creak of weight pressing into it, though the seat was visibly empty. Then something leaned close enough for him to feel a warm breath on his cheek—smelling of dust, and rot, and paper that had been buried too long in the ground.

He never went back to the library.


The Renovation
Workers gutted the old toilets during semester break. The walls were smashed, the pipes torn out. But they never stayed long after dark.

One plumber swore he heard weeping echoing from the exposed drains. Not loud—just soft, wet sobs that made the hair rise on the back of his neck. Another worker left mid-shift after pulling a clump of black hair from a pipe, only to feel it twitch in his hand, warm and slick, as though it had been freshly torn from someone’s scalp.

The toilets have been remade, but no renovation erases what lingers. Students walk past casually in daylight, but after dusk, some claim they hear dripping in the corridor. If you stop and listen, the sound sharpens. It isn’t water. It’s a throat, gasping for air beneath the floor.


The Thief
At first it was small things: pens, coins, snacks. Then whole phone chargers and lecture notes vanished from bags left unattended. Fingers were pointed, but no one found the culprit. Until one night, a girl stayed back late to study for finals with her friends.
At 1 a.m., she saw a locker outside tremble. A latch lifted on its own. Fingers—child-sized, green and wrinkled like fruit left to rot—curled around the edge.
A toyol crawled out, its eyes glassy, skin shining with a thin coat of slime. It grinned at her, mouth filled with broken teeth, before scuttling across the lockers on all fours.
When she finally screamed, her friends woke to find her clutching her notes. Across the sidelight window, small handprints were pressed into the glass—wet, translucent, then vanished in the morning.


The Walk
The walk back to the dorms should take five minutes. But on the road past the sports court, it always feels longer. The lamps buzz overhead, spilling sickly yellow light. 

Your shoes strike the charcoal pavement, each echo sharp and brittle, like bones snapping in the distance. But sometimes you hear another pair. Slower. Dragging.

When you turn, someone is standing by the edge of the court. Too far to see clearly. Their head lolls to the side, hanging loosely, as though the neck has been broken.

When they move, they don’t walk. They hop, stiff and violent, with each movement jolting like a puppet pulled by strings.

And the further you run, the closer the footsteps follow—until the road bends, and the lamps flicker out one by one behind you.


The Lake
The ducks disappeared one semester. Everyone joked about barbecues. But then, late at night, students started seeing ripples on the lake.

They swore they saw ducks gliding across the water. Silent. Too many of them. Their shapes pale, their reflections broken.

But the closer you looked, the “wronger” they seemed. Their necks bent back at sharp angles, heads twisting until their beaks pointed straight at the sky. Their eyes glowed faint red, bobbing like embers.
One student went too close to the water, trying to record them. She swore something cold brushed her hand, and dropped her phone into the water. The next morning, her phone was washed up on the grass. When it was restored, one recording survived: thirty minutes of murky water. Toward the end, two red pinpricks flared in the dark—hovering just long enough to know they were staring back.


The Dorm
The dorm corridors are worse after midnight. The lights hum, flickering faintly, and the hallway stretches too far.

One girl returning late found her room door ajar, though she had locked it. Inside, her roommate was asleep. But she heard her name whispered softly.

It came again. Closer. From the wardrobe.

The door rattled once, then stopped.

She was too afraid to open it. She pressed her ear against the wood, praying she’d imagined it. And then she heard the whisper again—her name, sharp this time, whispered from the inside. Followed by the sound of fingernails dragging slowly down the door.


The Last Word
Campus life is supposed to be assignments, late suppers, deadlines. But when the lamps flicker for no reason, when the corridors feel longer than normal, when the lake stirs without wind—you wonder if the campus has its own stories, written in shadows.

Stephen King reminds us that horror hides in the ordinary. And here, on campus, maybe the ordinary is where the horror begins.

So if you ever hear your name whispered when you’re alone, don’t answer. Not every story wants to be told.

Sleep well. If you can.

These days, my life is a blur of train rides, assignments, and lab coats. Mornings start with coffee and end with caffeine. My bag is filled with a big fat laptop, dog-eared notes, and a calculator that’s seen better days. Between formulas, deadlines, and the loud screeches of the train, I barely have time to look up.

So when I noticed the paper crane sitting quietly on my desk this morning, I almost didn’t recognise it.

It sat there like it had always been — wings a little bent, colour faded into a gentle pastel from what used to be bright blue. I thought for a second I must’ve made it recently and forgotten, but then I saw the layer of dust beneath it. No. It's the same crane I folded twelve years ago.

When I was little, paper was never just paper. It was a possibility. I’d sit cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to craft shows on TV, convinced that colour could bend into life if I folded it just right. My desk back then was a full-blown mess. Scissors buried under scraps, glue dots stuck to my sleeves, and laughter echoing somewhere in between.

Every day, I folded something new: a star, a flower, a heart that never broke. But the cranes were my favourite. I believed they could fly if I only found the right breeze. Each one carried a wish tucked between its folds: some for joy, some for friendship, one for courage. I gave many away, believing they’d carry luck with them. Others, I placed on my desk and on my windowsill. I even hung some of them by my window, and when the wind stirred them, it looked like a flock ready to take off.

Then, life unfolded differently. Exams, grades, and growing up arrived. My fingers forgot the patterns they once knew. The paper stacks disappeared into drawers, and the TV channels were replaced with emails, alarms, and a never-ending to-do list. 

Yet, somehow, this one crane stayed. I don’t even remember keeping it out. Maybe it refused to be forgotten. Maybe it wanted to remind me.
Now, when the window is open, a soft gust makes its wings tremble. It almost looks… alive. Not because of magic, but memory. I watch the paper flutter and think of the little girl who once believed she could make the sky out of colour.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s what growing up really means — not forgetting, but remembering in smaller, quieter ways. The calm that used to come from folding paper hasn’t vanished; it’s just changed shape.

On impulse, I reach for it. My fingers hesitate before gently unfolding what I once had sealed. The paper crackles softly, a fragile sound of something waking. Inside, in faint pencil strokes, I find a message written by a much smaller hand:

The words stop me. For a moment, the years between us disappear — the child I was, the adult I became. And in that quiet moment, I realise this crane has been waiting all along… guarding my dreams… a wish I’d made for myself… the patience and the care I learned from this craft.

So I smooth the paper flat again, fold the first crease back into place like a muscle memory. Its wings take shape once more. Fragile, imperfect, alive.

And this time, when the wind moves through the room, I smile.

Illustration by Kai Xuan (@charlottekaix)

Every story we’ve ever written begins with a tree. It’s easy to forget that between editing drafts and designs, clicking through photos, flipping through schedules and glossy pages, and chasing deadlines, but on October 4th, the members of ETC Magazine found themselves standing right where every magazine story truly begins: in the middle of a forest.

This time, the assignment wasn’t about interviews or layout design. It was about rolling up sleeves, picking up gloves, and giving back to the very roots of creativity, which was nature itself.

Fifteen Etc. Magazine members gathered at the Kota Damansara Community Forest Reserve (KDCF) for a day of clean-up, maintenance, and quiet rediscovery. Guided by the forest’s own community representatives, volunteers were split into groups to tackle litter collection, trail restoration, and minor upkeep along the forest paths.

What started with a few sleepy faces and late arrivals quickly turned into a morning filled with laughter, teamwork, and the crunch of leaves underfoot. Early birds took the lead while the rest regrouped, catching up in both energy and enthusiasm. And when trash bags and gloves ran short, teamwork (and a few quick requests to the KDCF team) kept everything running smoothly.

The sun was relentless, the trails uneven, and the mosquitoes unforgiving, but none of that dimmed the spirit of the group. Short hydration breaks and cheerful banter kept everyone going. Every piece of litter picked up and every patch of trail restored felt like a small victory, a way to make a difference one step at a time.

Along the way, volunteers learned more about the forest’s biodiversity, conservation efforts, and how small acts like carrying out your own trash or protecting native plants, ripple into long-term sustainability. The KDCF representatives shared insights on how the reserve serves as both a green lung for the city and a reminder of what’s worth protecting.

The event wasn’t just about environmental awareness; it was about reconnecting with one another beyond the walls of Taylor’s University. Between hauling trash bags and comparing who found the “weirdest item” in the forest, the ETC team found themselves bonding in unexpected ways. It wasn’t the usual editorial meeting, but somehow, it captured the same energy — creative, collaborative, and a little chaotic, in the best way.

By the end of the day, shoes were muddy, gloves were worn thin, and smiles came easily. Together, the team completed the planned clean-up and minor trail restoration activities, while building camaraderie that couldn’t have been scripted better if it were an article itself.

The success of the CSR project didn’t just lie in the cleaned trails or the collected litter, it was in the shared sense of purpose that took root among the members. ETC Magazine also strengthened ties with the Kota Damansara Community Forest Society, opening doors for future collaborations in conservation and awareness.

This experience reminded us that stories don’t just live on screens or in print. They live in action, in the places we choose to care for, and in the people we choose to care with.

So maybe the next time we hold a printed issue of Etc. Magazine, we’ll remember this: behind every page lies a forest worth writing about.

On the 8th November 2025, the Student Leaders Conference 2025, organised by Taylor’s Student Council, Taylor’s College Student Council, Taylor’s Postgraduate Student Council, etc. Magazine and Shine Ambassadors took place at LT21/22, Taylor’s University. The event was officiated with a welcoming speech by the emcees, Lazima Rahman and Nabilah bt Ghazali, followed by an inspiring speech by the President of Student Council, Justin Chan, on his journey and growth into shaping himself as a leader not only to his team but to others as well. The welcoming speech by the chairman, Mr Ronson, officially marks the start of this inspiring session to shape leaders for a changing world. Before diving into the highlights of the event, an intense opening performance was showcased by Taylor’s LIVE Club of a song cover, ‘Trampoline by SHAED’.

The very first guest speaker of the day, Lim Ben-Jie, a Taylor’s alumnus of 2015, was invited to the stage to share his perspective on leading with purpose, navigating challenges, and achieving success. Listeners had a front-row seat to Ben-Jie's journey from the beginning to where he is today, a journey that includes not only shining success but also the hard work and failures behind the scenes. “Being a leader, I thought I had to be the loudest in the room”. To Ben-Jie, leadership is about more than just skills — it’s about the connections we build with one another, and above all, the belief someone once placed in you, even when you were the youngest or least accomplished in the room. Comparison is the real killer. Another key takeaway from his adventurous journey throughout his entire journey, taking risks was the major key towards it all, to failure, to success, to everything. Regardless, failures never tied Ben-Jie down but boosted him to be better than before. Apart from Ben-Jie’s career journey, a question brought up by the audience, “Would you do anything differently if you could turn back time?” Ben-Jie expressed his wish to have spent more time with his parents, embedding them more into his time back then.

Moving on, Sulaxmi continued the segment by sharing valuable principles for becoming a better leader. Before delving into the theme of leading with purpose, she offered the audience a glimpse into her upbringing and the journey that shaped her into who she is today. Returning to the main focus of her talk, Sulaxmi highlighted three key principles — time, character, and relationships — which she described as the foundational building blocks of leadership.

She emphasised the importance of defining one’s own success early on by understanding what truly matters and who you aspire to be, rather than making decisions based on appearances, popularity, or external pressure. “A position should not define your identity,” she reminded the audience.

Intentional use of time was another crucial lesson. Sulaxmi encouraged leaders to reflect on how they allocate their time: “Is your time going to where your values should be? If not, then it shouldn’t be allocated there — and the same applies to your relationships.” Her words served as a powerful reminder that time is precious and should be spent wisely.

Addressing teamwork, Sulaxmi challenged the notion that selecting others with similar skill sets ensures better results. Instead, she explained that diversity in strengths allows team members to complement one another, fitting together like puzzle pieces that collectively form the bigger picture.

To conclude her insightful talk, Sulaxmi urged aspiring leaders to pursue challenges that stretch and test them — opportunities that may reveal their weaknesses under pressure — rather than choosing roles for prestige or popularity.

Before the audience moved on to the delicacies awaiting in the grand hall, the first round of lucky draw was conducted for 5 lucky winners to win a total of RM50 Grab vouchers. As we entered the grand hall for the networking lunch session, tables were set, and guests were ready to dig in! As the covers unfolded, the strong and fragrant dishes filled our noses before we could taste them. Bon appétit! As our stomachs gradually filled, so did conversations across the tables amongst different clubs and societies, mingling and learning more about one another.

With our stomachs and hearts filled, the conference carries on!

Moderated by Mikhall Mazlan, the panel featured Roshen Maghhan, Estelle Kee, and Syed Mohd Latif Syed Abdul Rahim, who came together to share their personal journeys and insights into what it takes to achieve excellence. The discussion explored one of the most frequently asked questions: “What makes a good, competent leader?”

Each panellist offered a unique perspective — from emphasising flexibility and empathy to Estelle Kee’s belief that “leadership is self-leadership.” She elaborated that one must first learn to lead oneself with discipline before leading others.

During the forum, student leaders raised diverse and thought-provoking issues, including the challenge of initiating change within organisations bound by long-standing traditions. Roshen acknowledged that newcomers often face the risk of being dismissed and their ideas overlooked. His advice: “Go down the ladder and pitch it to the next person — keep repeating the cycle, because eventually, someone will listen.”

Estelle added that having clear structures and channels for constructive dialogue within an organisation is crucial for ensuring that voices are heard.

Among the many questions from the audience, one stood out: “How can leaders keep their members motivated?” — a challenge many face. Mikhall emphasised the importance of compromise, reminding everyone that “no one can have everything at once.” Syed reinforced this idea, urging leaders to move away from self-centred language: “Avoid saying ‘I’ and ‘me’; it should be ‘we.’ There is no ‘I’ or ‘me’ without ‘we.’”

Wrapping up the conference, the stage once again invites Taylor’s LIVE Club with a strong and outstanding performance delivered yet again, showcasing incredible talents at Taylor’s University. Before the event officially concluded, the final round of the lucky draw took place, giving a chance for 5 winners to take home up to RM100 Grab vouchers. As a token of appreciation towards the attendees, the Student Leaders Conference prepared gifts as attendees exited the hall, alongside food vouchers for all to enjoy after the conference.

The Student Leaders Conference concluded with not only success but valuable insights for all to carry along their journey as they strive to be a better leader and lead with confidence. It was a great honour for all attendees towards Taylor’s Alumni for taking the time to share their experience and pass on the words of wisdom to the future leaders. 

Stay tuned for more @slc.taylors!

There was something different about the air below the ADP classrooms that evening. Colder, heavier, almost electric. On October 29th, the usual hum of lectures and chatter was replaced by suspenseful music, echoing laughter, and the shuffle of cloaked figures moving in the dark. Peer Counselling Buddies (PCB) and Cyber Circuit (CC) Club had transformed the underground classrooms into the twisted world of Alice in Borderland for their Halloween event, Gathering of The Veil.

Masks, vampire cloaks, and dim candlelight set the tone for the night. Even before the games began, it was hard to tell who was a host, who was a player, and who might secretly be part of the “cult.” Participants arrived in pairs, some planned and some accidental, forming what the hosts called “double trouble.” For those who came alone, the organisers quickly paired them up with strangers, turning awkward smiles into nervous laughter. Before long, everyone was thrown into the same fate: survive the games or lose their senses.

Each classroom represented one of the four suits from Alice in Borderland, each testing a different skill.

♠ Spades challenged physical endurance. One room required players to navigate a pitch-black maze while balancing a “grimoire” in their hands. The faint glow of phone flashlights and muffled giggles were the only clues of where others might be.

 ♥ Hearts tested communication and emotion, like the game where partners had to recite tongue twisters to each other without breaking character.

 ♦ Diamonds demanded logic and wit, from poker math puzzles that had to total nine to cryptic code-breaking challenges that left players scratching their heads.

 ♣ Clubs focused on teamwork, such as a leg-tied race that had pairs hopping together across the hall, laughing as they tried not to fall.

The games had a twist. Losing didn’t just mean defeat; it meant losing a “sense” or a “limb.” One player might be blindfolded, another forbidden to speak, while others had to hop on one leg. To regain their abilities, participants took on silly dares: acting possessed by a demon, giving an overly dramatic weather forecast, explaining how to eat spaghetti as if it were a lecture, or strutting down an imaginary runway like a possessed model.

The result was pure, delightful chaos. The underground rooms rang with laughter, confusion, and camaraderie.

By the end of the night, the games had softened into conversation. Tired voices mingled with laughter as players congratulated each other and exchanged Instagram handles. I met new friends that night, too. We might not talk again after the event, but for a few hours, we were allies in the same strange world, escaping rooms, solving riddles, and laughing under our masks.

That was what made Gathering of the Veil more than just a Halloween party. Beneath the jump scares and puzzles, it was a space to connect, even briefly, through shared laughter and uncertainty. Sometimes, connection doesn’t come from deep conversations. It happens in the middle of chaos, under flickering lights, when you’re laughing with someone you just met about failing a tongue twister challenge.

Throughout the night, Peer Counselling Buddies (PCB) and Cyber Circuit (CC) Club worked side by side to make the experience both immersive and meaningful. PCB brought warmth and care into the eerie atmosphere, reminding participants that connection and comfort can appear even in unexpected forms. CCC built the technical and creative foundation of the games, designing puzzles and escape challenges that made the Alice in Borderland theme come alive.

As the final game ended, the tension eased. The organisers rolled out boxes of pizza and bottles of iced lemon tea, and the once-frenzied basement turned into a cosy afterparty. Players sat in circles, still wearing half their masks, chatting over slices and laughing about the ridiculous dares they had just survived. It was the perfect ending — a moment of warmth after the madness, a reminder that even in the darkest rooms, connection can glow bright.

Together, PCB and CCC didn’t just host a Halloween event. They built a space where fear met friendship, and everyone left the basement a little lighter than when they entered.

Follow their journeys (and maybe join their next adventure): 

Peer Counselling Buddies (PCB) @pcb.taylors 

Cyber Circuit (CC) Club @c.c_adp

Illustration by Joey Lok (@joeyy.lws)

On the 30th of August, Echoes of Malaysia took over Taylor’s College in a celebration of music, culture, and purpose. Hosted by the Taylor’s College Student Council (TCSC), the event brought together friends, families, and students—united by a shared cause despite their differences.

The dimly lit Lecture Theatre 13 exuded professionalism with a touch of elegance. The air was cool, and faint notes of classic ’90s music drifted through the space. Rows of seats faced the stage, illuminated by a single spotlight. A large screen projected the words Echoes of Malaysia, and the audience buzzed with excitement. Dressed in vibrant cultural attire, everyone chatted warmly, filling the hall with anticipation.

“Music with a Mission,” announced the MCs.

The event was more than a concert—it was a project against cancer, one of the leading causes of death worldwide. Its mission: to raise awareness among youth about breast cancer, encouraging early detection and prevention through the universal language of music.

The event’s success was the result of months of collaboration across two student council terms. It showed how powerful faith in collective effort can be.

An alumna of Taylor’s, who founded the initiative, was personally driven by her relative’s battle with breast cancer. Inspired by her story and the unwavering commitment of TCSC, Echoes of Malaysia became a platform for unheard stories—of struggle, survival, and strength.

Working alongside TCSC was the Breast Cancer Welfare Association (BCWA), a non-profit organisation founded in 1986 by medical specialists. Next year, BCWA will celebrate its 40th anniversary.

Recognising that many breast cancer deaths are preventable, BCWA’s mission is to support, educate, and advocate for early detection and timely medical treatment.

“You are like a ray of white light diffracting into colours that soaked the entire event hall,” said Arissya, addressing the performers.

That night, Echoes of Malaysia featured electrifying performances by Erika Foo, Dang, The Saints, Tritone, and Jada Faustina Biggs—each bringing their own brilliance to the stage.

Jada and Erika’s velvety vocals hushed the hall into stillness, their soulful melodies swaying the audience gently from side to side. Then came The Saints and Tritone—their roaring guitars and pounding drums reignited the room with pure rock energy, drawing rhythmic claps and cheers.

In contrast, Dang charmed the audience with his heartfelt rendition of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman, infusing the night with warmth and nostalgia.

Each performer represented Malaysia’s diversity through music, performing in multiple languages that reflected the nation’s cultural richness.

“Getting to see my friends as a crew and watching the performance is very rewarding. All the struggles and hurdles we went through were worth it.” — Erika Foo

“Everything has been outstanding, and the fact that the performers are willing to come and support us is really nice.” — Raeshwana, TCSC organiser

Tritone’s final song was a touching tribute to a friend who had recently passed away from cancer. His last Instagram post read, “I’ve been carrying this burden for many years. I want to keep fighting. But sometimes, fate doesn’t always get its way.”

To keep spirits high, the MCs hosted an interactive trivia session. With a quick scan of a QR code, the competition began. Laughter echoed through the hall as participants debated answers, and the MCs’ witty remarks lightened the atmosphere.

Here’s one that sparked discussion: Is “lah” used in an angry or friendly tone? That’s still up for debate.

The night also featured Miss Sumitra Selvaraj, a representative of BCWA, who began her speech with heartfelt gratitude toward TCSC before outlining BCWA’s mission:

“Supporting the diagnosed, shining light on survivors, and bringing free clinical breast health examinations and education to women all over Peninsular Malaysia.”

She emphasised the importance of early breast examinations and the need to break the stigma surrounding breast cancer, particularly for men.

“You guys are now our mission,” she told the audience, stressing that even without a family history, everyone remains at risk. “Ninety-five per cent of people diagnosed have no family link. Being embarrassed is normal—but silence can be deadly.”

The event drew around 100 attendees. For TCSC, that number represented something deeper than turnout—it symbolised unity through music.

Miss Agnes, an attendee and relative of one of the performers, shared, “Music brings together the old and young.” She gestured toward the audience, where both generations swayed to the same rhythm.

According to Airissya, “Music makes us feel emotional, even when we don’t understand the lyrics. The feelings alone remind us there’s something worth fighting for, something to walk toward in life.”

“This is a great way to get everyone to feel the awareness of the cause we are fighting for,” she concluded.

As goodbyes and appreciation filled the hall, a quiet sense of unity lingered. From the passion of every performer to the dedication of TCSC, the night ended not just with applause—but with purpose.

While technology and science may one day eradicate breast cancer, the first step begins within us: being open, being aware, and prioritising our health.