Consider: A long read published by FMT yesterday to coincide with her death at age 62 on May 26, 1987 garnered an insane 64,000 shares – and counting – on social media.

The huge public interest despite the many stories about her over the years is a remarkable testimony of Rose having the power to hold sway to this day.

And it adds yet another emotional element to the life of a woman who gained national nudge-nudge notoriety over her profession.

It’s a pity that this interest didn’t exist in her final days. Rose, nearly broke, died so alone in hospital after a long battle with breast cancer.

What parts of her life still resonate with people today?

Perhaps, it was her tussle with sexism, insularity and poverty – all of which she overcame fearlessly.

Perhaps, it was how Rose side-stepped prejudice and discrimination for the right to be herself, and to dance however she pleased.

Did she address women’s work, equality and rights in the country even before there was a word for feminism?

I doubt anyone would include someone whose work was considered scandalous and taboo as a voice for women’s rights.

What Rose had done will never be witnessed in the country again. But how society treated her then is in full bloom today, given the dismissive mindset of dictating what women can and cannot do.

I can testify in a small way to the contempt Rose faced when she was my neighbour at house number 223 Mok Sum Garden in Rasah, Seremban, in 1976.

She had moved in after dancing her last tease in Kuala Lumpur at the age of 51.

Her presence raised the eyebrows of certain elders who would scowl: “Keep away from the stripper’s house.”

They were among prudish critics who saw her as a sign of deteriorating moral standards.

I ignored their warning and kept company with Rose including making grocery runs for her and washing her Jaguar car.

That was because every time she stepped out of her three-room terrace house, which she had rented for M$200, some residents would make unkind remarks.

Neither my neighbours, nor my family, knew that Rose was also once my boss.

In 1976, I was a M$4.50 a day casual worker when she was the managing director of the New Pacific Bar and Nite Club in Seremban town.

Months earlier, she had performed at the club on the sixth floor of the Ruby Hotel on Lemon Street.

It was the go-to entertainment spot frequented by high-flyers who came from afar as Singapore to see Rose. A big bottle of Martell cost M$55.

The club was raided several times and Rose got fined for her acts although it was a liberal period in Malaysia.

Exotic films like “Swedish Fly Girls” were screened in cinemas and Playboy magazines were easily available at newsstands a stone’s throw from the club.

Elsewhere in town, Suzie Wong and Rose’s student Annie Cheah were taking their clothes off on stage.

In 1977, as a stringer with the New Straits Times and Malay Mail in Seremban, I rejoiced at the chance to interview her.

This time, it was exotic striptease dancer Rose Chan turned restaurateur, curative massage parlour owner and manager of a band named Jam Jam.

I wrote two separate stories but the story she did not want printed was how she was pulled from pillar to pillar as she went under the laser beam of public scrutiny doing what she loved best.

Rose said she wasn’t ready then to go public against those who stood in her way of making her own path in life as she wanted her businesses to succeed and take care of her loved ones.

She had sorrow, she had anger, she had bemusement. She seemed defenceless.

This was a woman who though, unbothered by lewdness on stage, shielded her showgirls from predatory men although she was abandoned by her four husbands.

The heart of her story lies in its visceral dramatisation of more timeless feelings: fear and loneliness.

I wonder if the revived interest in the story of Rose who would have been 95 this year will spawn a penetrating study of her heroism.