Place of my distant past
Somewhere between Bidor and KL, there's a small village.
Back then the houses there had walls of wood and ceiling of aluminum foil. When it rains, it storms in the inside. Water would leak through the roof and we had to put pails and buckets on the floor to catch the rain.
We didn't have tiles for floors, nor did we have a proper floor to begin with. Getting around was always with the same horrid wooden clogs 2 sizes too big for my feet.
I remember the feeling of sweaty clothes sticking on my back and too many flies buzzing around.
I remember shivering from the morning bath because we didn't had a water heater.
I remember shooting lizards with my father's old elastic I'd found in the storage.
I remember screaming my favorite song in the dead of night when I had to pee outside because I'd wanted to feel brave.
I remember being afraid of the boy next door who had a mental disorder.
I remember the dead cat I'd found under a bush.
I remember the smell of grandmother's clothes.
I remember squatting under a shade with my forehead pressed against my knees when the weather got too hot.
I remember being the only child of my age there and then.
I remember not being able to see beyond grandfather's work table.
I remember feeling so small and alone.
I'd loathed that place.
But it was there and then that I'd spent a part of my life growing up.
And now, while I am typing this entry under a solid roof, in a perfectly air-conditioned room after a refreshing hot shower,
I'm really glad I did.
"I'm back." I whispered,
to the people of the past hanging on the wall.
And I would imagine,
in a polite smile and gentle nod,
they would say to me.
"Welcome home."
Back then the houses there had walls of wood and ceiling of aluminum foil. When it rains, it storms in the inside. Water would leak through the roof and we had to put pails and buckets on the floor to catch the rain.
We didn't have tiles for floors, nor did we have a proper floor to begin with. Getting around was always with the same horrid wooden clogs 2 sizes too big for my feet.
I remember the feeling of sweaty clothes sticking on my back and too many flies buzzing around.
I remember shivering from the morning bath because we didn't had a water heater.
I remember shooting lizards with my father's old elastic I'd found in the storage.
I remember screaming my favorite song in the dead of night when I had to pee outside because I'd wanted to feel brave.
I remember being afraid of the boy next door who had a mental disorder.
I remember the dead cat I'd found under a bush.
I remember the smell of grandmother's clothes.
I remember squatting under a shade with my forehead pressed against my knees when the weather got too hot.
I remember being the only child of my age there and then.
I remember not being able to see beyond grandfather's work table.
I remember feeling so small and alone.
I'd loathed that place.
But it was there and then that I'd spent a part of my life growing up.
And now, while I am typing this entry under a solid roof, in a perfectly air-conditioned room after a refreshing hot shower,
I'm really glad I did.
"I'm back." I whispered,
to the people of the past hanging on the wall.
And I would imagine,
in a polite smile and gentle nod,
they would say to me.
"Welcome home."