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The Boys Who Stayed: Preston Ong’s Story of Friendship and Multicultural Malaysia
Text | Larissa Lumandan
Photo | JellyBean
“Growing up in Malaysia, we were taught to help and respect one another. You might not see it now, but years later, someone will thank you for the kindness you once showed.” - Preston Ong
Malaysia has never struggled to describe itself. It is the country of open houses and shared festivities, where Hari Raya, Chinese New Year, Deepavali, Christmas, Gawai and Kaamatan sit comfortably on the same calendar. Breakfast conversations slip effortlessly between Malay, English, Mandarin and Tamil, while a single meal can bring together nasi lemak, dim sum, and roti canai on one table.
These are the images that often define the nation. Yet the true story of Malaysia's multiculturalism lives in quieter places: school classrooms, neighbourhoods and mamak restaurants, where everyone, regardless of background, orders another glass of teh tarik before heading home.
It is this everyday Malaysia that inspired author Preston Ong, who writes under the pen name Jellybean, to tell the story of The Boys Who Stayed through the eyes of Wei Jian, an 11-year-old Malaysian Chinese boy.
For the 26-year-old, the novel is deeply personal. "I was born and raised in this country where you have multiple races," he told POPClub in an exclusive interview. "This book is an appreciation and gratitude towards this environment that I was born and raised in,” he added.
A story rooted in memory
Wei Jian is not merely a fictional protagonist. "I was a Chinese boy myself, born and raised in Malaysia," Ong said. That shared background made Wei Jian the most natural narrator for the novel. More importantly, it allowed Ong to revisit the world through the eyes of a child—a perspective he believes adults gradually lose.
Children, he observed, do not begin life with prejudice. They encounter different cultures with curiosity instead of suspicion, embracing new experiences without questioning whether someone belongs to a different race or religion. Those distinctions emerge much later, shaped by the world around them.
Wei Jian's journey is therefore not simply about growing up Chinese in Malaysia. It is about growing up Malaysian—discovering cultures through school life, neighbourhood friendships and everyday encounters.
Beyond familiar circles
Malaysia proudly celebrates its multicultural identity, but Ong acknowledges that reality can be more complicated. While he grew up surrounded by friends from different ethnic backgrounds, he also encountered people who rarely formed connections beyond their own communities. Experiencing both perspectives convinced him that opening ourselves to others changes more than social circles; it changes character.
"It brings a unique perspective when you step outside of your comfort zone. New friendships inspire new values, new character traits,” he explained.
For Ong, choosing familiar local settings for his novel felt natural. "For instance, I think mamak is one of the few places in Malaysia where you can see people from different backgrounds coming together," he said. "It's the beauty of multiculturalism in Malaysia."
His affection for the iconic eatery is shared by millions of Malaysians. Long after shopping malls close and offices empty, mamak restaurants remain alive with conversation.
Writing from experience
Although the novel respectfully portrays different cultures and religious traditions, Ong said very little of it required extensive research.
Around 80 per cent of the story emerged from his own memories, as well as the experiences of friends and acquaintances. The remaining research focused largely on verifying details and avoiding cultural misunderstandings. This foundation of lived experiences gives the novel an authenticity rooted in familiarity.
Among Ong's favourite scenes is one in which Wei Jian reluctantly joins a kompang performance in school. The moment draws directly from his own teenage years. Like his protagonist, Ong was once persuaded to take part in one himself.
At the time, the rehearsals felt demanding, and learning an unfamiliar instrument seemed more like a burden than a privilege, he said. Years later, however, the experience has become one of the memories he treasures most.
The child we leave behind
Perhaps the most poignant reflection comes when Ong delves into why writing Wei Jian felt emotionally heavy. It was not because writing from a child's perspective proved difficult. Rather, revisiting childhood reminded him of how much adults change.
As children, he explained, people approach the world with uncomplicated curiosity. As adults, our experiences gradually replace innocence with assumptions, opinions and caution. Somewhere along the journey, many lose the child they once were. "The kid in them died," he reflected.
Significantly, Ong does not believe childhood represents life's happiest chapter. "The best moment is now," he said, explaining that looking back simply teaches him to appreciate the present more fully.
The quiet power of kindness
Beyond friendship itself, the novel also explores a quieter kind of strength: kindness rarely ends where it begins.
Growing up in Malaysia, Ong said he learnt that helping others and respecting differences are values worth carrying through life. This belief shapes the relationships within the novel. Wei Jian and his friends support one another not through dramatic acts of heroism, but through something far simpler: listening, understanding and showing up when someone needs them most.
Ong believes friendship can sometimes offer a kind of comfort that family cannot. Friends often share the same stage of life, navigating similar fears and uncertainties, making them easier confidants for struggles that children may hesitate to share with their parents.
A story for today's Malaysia
While Ong's novel is a gentle coming-of-age story, it also speaks to something much larger. Ong reminds readers of something they may already know but have quietly forgotten—that for generations of Malaysians, friendship has always crossed boundaries more easily than politics ever could.
Somewhere between a game of guli, a meal at the mamak, and the rhythm of a kompang, The Boys Who Stayed offers a hopeful portrait of the Malaysia many still recognise. Not an idealised version, but the one that has always existed—waiting, perhaps, for adults to see it through a child's eyes once again.
The Boys Who Stayed
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