I VIVIDLY remember the day Lady Diana Spencer married her prince in a fairy-tale setting. I was 10, visiting my aunty in Petaling Jaya, and the air was thick with excitement. My cousins and I huddled around my aunt's old boxy television set, the kind with manual dials, as the entire world seemed to pause to witness this historic moment.
As TIME reported in August 1981 from London where Charles and Diana married, the spectacle seemed like a real-life fairy tale — visually dazzling and watched by an estimated 750 million people around the world:
"A splendid prince, his beautiful princess, a carriage, a crowd: fantasy come to life, a dream riding in stately progress through London. Except that this moment and the ones that came before and after were real, for all to observe."
We sat there, wide-eyed and mesmerised, as the grand carriage carrying the soon-to-be princess made its way to St Paul's Cathedral in London. It was the 1980s, a time when fashion was defined by leg warmers, parachute pants and massive shoulder pads.
But that decade, nothing captured the public's imagination quite like Diana and her cascade of cropped, cheekbone-skimming and chin-grazing layers that became her signature "Lady Di" style.
My father, wanting to keep his daughters happy, told our perplexed hairdresser in Klang: "Saya mau itu Lady Di style!" Unfortunately, the result was far from the sleek, elegant look we'd imagined.
Instead, my sister and I were left with poorly cut hairstyles that bore little resemblance to the iconic "Lady Di" look. But even with our awkward haircuts, we couldn't help but feel a small connection to the princess who'd captured the world's heart.
LOVE FOR THE PRINCESS
My sister began keeping a scrapbook of Diana from the moment she burst into the scene as a shy 19-year-old nursery teacher, carefully cutting out every news clipping and photo of the beloved princess and preserving them in her big red book.
Her most prized possessions were the stamps she collected — tiny, delicate pieces of history commemorating the royal couple's engagement and wedding. Those stamps were more than just collectibles; they were symbols of a dream that we, like so many others, had shared in — a dream of fairy-tale romance, hope, and the magic that Diana brought into our lives.
After the wedding, the spotlight on Diana only grew intense. The relentless advances in technology and communications, coupled with an insatiable demand for her photographs — guaranteed bestsellers for newspapers and magazines — meant that the young princess was subjected to an increasingly invasive and less reverential gaze. Yet, despite the media frenzy, our love for this beautiful, golden-haired royalty never wavered.
My sister's scrapbook continued to swell with each new clipping and photo, a growing testament to her admiration. On her 15th birthday, my father gifted her a cherished keepsake: The Year of the Princess, a coffee-table book that chronicled Diana's journey, culminating in the birth of her first child, William. To this day, my sister still holds onto that book, a tangible reminder of the princess who, for a time, seemed to belong to all of us.
CRACKS IN THE MIRROR
But there were no happy endings. As the years passed, the cracks in Charles and Diana's marriage began to show, shattering the illusion of their fairy-tale romance. Behind the public smiles and royal appearances, the relationship was strained, and the pressures of royal life only deepened the divide.
Diana, once seen as the flawless princess, revealed her own struggles and vulnerabilities. The world was stunned when she gave a candid interview, admitting that "there were three of us in this marriage", alluding to Charles's ongoing relationship with Camilla Parker Bowles.
Suddenly, the fairy tale began to unravel, exposing the deep fractures under the intense glare of media scrutiny. The marriage that once seemed like a dream was now a poignant reminder that even royalty isn't immune to the challenges of real life.
We still loved Diana, but the demands of growing up — school, friendships, the challenges of adolescence — slowly took precedence over our childhood obsession. The princess who'd once captivated our imaginations became a distant memory, her story tucked away in the corners of our minds, just like that scrapbook.
After the divorce, Diana moved on with her life, just as we did. She too grew up, shedding the image of a fairy-tale princess to become a woman deeply committed to activism and charity work.
I remember reading about her visit to a Harlem hospital in New York, where she embraced a 7-year-old boy with AIDS. At a time when fear and misinformation about HIV and AIDS were rampant, and homophobia was deeply entrenched, Diana's simple, compassionate act of hugging that child sent shockwaves around the world. It was a bold statement against prejudice, showing that she was no longer just a princess, but a powerful advocate for change.
When Diana began actively spinning her own story in 1991 by collaborating with journalists, she declared: "From now on, I'm going to own myself and be true to myself. I no longer want to live someone else's idea of what and who I should be. I'm going to be me." But she was still obsessed by the expectations of others.
"Whatever I do," she said towards the end of her life, "it's never good enough for some people".
I vividly remember the day Diana died. I was in Penang, and my sister was still in Kuala Lumpur. We both watched the news on television, unable to believe what we were seeing, overwhelmed by a deep, shared grief. We called each other, and through tears, we mourned the loss of the princess who'd been such a significant part of our childhood.
It was August 1997 when the car carrying Diana and her boyfriend, film producer Dodi Fayed, was speeding away from the relentless paparazzi. The car crashed in a Paris underpass; Fayed and the driver died at the scene, and Diana succumbed to her injuries shortly afterward in a hospital.
What had begun as a fairy tale had ended in unimaginable tragedy, leading to a global outpouring of grief and mourning in the days following her death and at her funeral.
But as the years passed, that grief subsided. Life continued and we no longer followed the royal family as we once fervently did when Diana was alive. Somehow, the magic that had once captivated us was gone.
It's probably fitting to note that, over the years, the red scrapbook was misplaced, never to be found again. Perhaps it's best that way. Once a vibrant symbol of our youthful fascination and dreams, the scrapbook gradually faded from our lives, just as Diana's story had.
It's as though its disappearance was a quiet reflection of the passage of time — how we'd moved on and how the enchantment we once felt had given way to the complexities of adult life.
Yet, my sister still treasures her worn copy of The Year of the Princess. Maybe not everything needs to be let go. In its own way, it continues to keep the forever-beautiful Diana and a small piece of our childhood alive — and holding onto these memories reminds us that sometimes, remembering is just as important as letting go.