I remember back in my school holidays where we
used to visit my dad’s hometown in Yong Peng, Johor; we had 5 hour drives
from Ipoh heading southward and I was always admiring the view outside the car
window like I never did in my other trips. The journey was never a comforting
one with me occasionally getting carsick and losing my meals while dealing with
my erratic claustrophobia. My favourite part of the journey, of course, was
arriving at the place where we needed to drive down a long and wide straight
road before driving past a massive electrical power station where the oil palms
and rubber trees at the sides offered much pleasure to my viewing. That being
the favourite part, the best part was arriving at the gates of my grandparent’s
house and the bliss at the sight of their welcome; at a place where my dad had
lived during his childhood years and a reminiscence of it at present; in a
small town called Kampung Baru Lam Lee.
Kampung Baru Lam Lee is one of the many small
towns in Malaysia called “kampung”, or countryside, and I can’t even find the
place on Google Maps. My hometown Ipoh is not particularly a city with busy
life such as Kuala Lumpur, but then again nowhere near the “kampung” as described
which I can only experience whenever school holidays arrive. Oil palms and
rubber trees surround the place and the setting is a breath of fresh air. The
sun was almost present every day and it would still be more soothing than
overcast days in Ipoh while stars are as clear as tiny glittering crystals in
the wonderful night sky. A typical kampung environment. A typical kampung
feeling.
I remember having fun around the place, playing
football with dad and my brother and some kids in a nearby field and also
visiting some cousin’s homes within the vicinity. I remember having fun with cousins
that visit my grandparent’s home too, playing with building blocks and whatever
we can use as a toy and watching cartoons on a small old fashioned TV. The thing
I remembered most, however, was the life of my grandparents during my time at
their house. The only thing I knew was education chances were limited back then
due to their financial situations and my grandfather worked as a rubber tapper
and later a clerk. During my visit he would approach me once in a while and
talk to me whenever I was playing or reading or doing something alone. I can’t
precisely remember the contents, but mostly he was asking about the things I
was doing and what I was reading. In my earlier memories he was very curious
man. He would occasionally speak English to me at times, and I would comply. I
remember he once said that me and my brother’s English are good, and that he
was learning.
During times when he preferred to be alone he
would sit down in front of the TV and read the newspaper (or maybe he was doing
both) and around dinner time my grandmother would be cooking some of my
favourite meals in the kitchen, especially the egg soup which I’ve dearly
missed. During dinner time we would chat some more, and in the night time he
would sit with my dad outside, beers by their side, staring into the night and
chatting away like old school father and son. Like father, like son. I’ve
always liked the sight of them sitting outside and chatting. During nights
where he did not have conversation sessions with my dad he would retreat to the
study table, wearing his gold-rimmed (and again, old fashioned) glasses and
writing and cutting newspaper pieces. I had ever really approached him and
asked him what he was doing. That was what I probably regret the most, if there
was any. But those are what I remembered, those were good times, and that was
that.
Routines began changing when I enrolled at college and my subsequent years at university. We are still an itinerant family
moving from place to place but Kampung Baru Lam Lee was no longer one of the usual
destinations. My parents were getting busy and my brother and I were living the
high life in Sunway, a rapid-developing city near Kuala Lumpur. I became more
familiar with the city life, going out with friends and doing all sorts of
things that a typical person does in his or her university years. I call it “experimenting
in life”. I came, I saw, but never really conquered it. I have never genuinely
enjoyed city life. There was always a sense of long-term serenity in me. It was
only until the final year of my university when I was studying my Honours
degree, where I realized I did not visit Lam Lee for a long time. So I kind of
cherished the peacefulness of the kampung environment. I remember precisely –
three years – the longest period since my last visit.
In the middle of March this year my dad was promoted
and stationed in Kuala Lumpur, and my brother and I followed – we are
officially city lads. It was also the time when my grandfather’s health was
deteriorating. We paid a one-day visit near the end of March. Nostalgia was the
only word in the English language to perfectly describe my return to the kampung.
Everything was basically the same, the gates, the door, and the surroundings.
Only I can really feel the heat this time because of global warming. When I
arrived at the house I was expecting to see my grandfather welcoming us like
the old times, only this time he was too weak to get out of his bed. I stepped
into his room where my uncle helped him to his wheelchair and moved him outside
for some fresh air. It was like old times, seeing him sitting and staring
outside, admiring the view. Only this time he looked different; he looked old –
for the first time I felt like he look old; his legs looked weak and armpits
sweating. Despite his condition, he managed to force a smile when he saw us. I
can imagine how happy he is when he did. For the first time, I really did. The
sad thing was we were just there for a short while. My grandfather didn’t talk
much as his voice was weak and his throat was constantly dry, yet he mustered
all his might to tell me a few words I have always – always listened, and
remembered. After half-an-hour we were in our car again and all set to leave.
There my grandfather was, in his wheelchair at the door waving us goodbye with
a weak smile as our car pulled away. I waved back, unsure if I smiled back,
trying not to think how he felt and all. I was just reminiscing that moment
when he smiled, thinking how he happy he was to see us.
My grandfather passed away on the 4th
of April, probably only a week later. I received the news when I was in the
car, and of course I didn’t receive it well, even though I probably knew it was
coming. Around three days later we returned to Lam Lee to attend his funeral. I
don’t need to describe the ambience during that time, of course. I remembered
standing in front of his coffin, trying my best to hold back my tears, which I
did. I’m not a great believer in deity and all, but I’ve heard people told me
about how humans would still be able to feel their surroundings for some time even
after death. Nevertheless I didn’t want my grandfather to see or feel me
crying. I didn’t attend my grandmother’s funeral when she passed away in 2005
due to my PMR exams (a compulsory exam for third year Malaysian high school
students) but I was unable to control my feelings when I visited her grave a
year later.
I joined my cousins and other families in the
kitchen shortly after. There I stared at the vacant study table where my
grandfather once occupied every night, and my brother and I would sit in front
watching cartoons on the old fashioned TV. It was then my mother and my cousins
told me to have a look at his scrapbooks. Being in an indifferent mood, I
simply walked over and occupied the study table. The nostalgic feeling was
there again. I remembered sitting there once, my grandfather by my side,
talking to me, or perhaps – teaching me about something. I never really
cherished the moment. Now I do. Before me there were several scrapbooks having
the size similar to a dictionary. I took one, flipped it open and began
reading. That was the moment I was astonished. From that moment I remembered
not uttering another word for about half-an-hour or so as my eyes were glued to
the pages of the scrapbooks. Within the pages were all writings and newspaper
cuttings, ranging from world happenings to newspaper English lessons. My
grandfather practiced his English by writing every new word that was introduced
on a particular lesson followed by its Chinese translation. And on another page
it would be news and his thoughts on it, and even writing some new words from
the news piece that were probably alien to him at the time. In one particular scrapbook which was for the
year 2012, he made the whole scrapbook as a memoir for his late wife – my grandmother.
It was like reading a documentary of his love life, only done in interesting
fashion. He made alphabets from newspaper cuttings – one particular page with a
picture of my grandmother and the words “she will always be my beloved”. And
there was one photo that puts a faint smile to my face – a picture of my
grandparents in their young adulthood holding their baby son – my dad. I turned
to my dad, and then to the photo again, and smiled to myself again. It was a
bittersweet feeling turning the pages of the scrapbooks, knowing my grandfather
had been doing this all along when he was on his study table. That’s why he
spoke some English to me, or my brother, or perhaps anyone. He was learning. He
was always learning. The final
scrapbook of his was dated 2013, in which his health already made it difficult
for him to even move that much. Yet he probably still kept doing what he loved,
reading every day and learning, creating wonderful pieces of scripts that, from
my point of view, could be likened to great works of art.
I took those scrapbooks as an inspiration to
rediscover my strengths and learn again, a virtue that he has passed down to my
family, who are also extremely studious people. I now call them “my
grandfather’s life’s work”. By noon the funeral was over, and everything was
probably usual again, and we will have to move on. Yet his work has instilled a
new fervor in me to stand by his motto: treasure life and do what you love to
do, and never stop learning. I will always be remembering the words he told me
before I leave his home: 健康很重要 (health is very important), 要好好照顾自己 (take good care of yourself) and 要好好读书 (study well). They
probably typical advice coming from older folks, but it was enough for me,
because they are words of gold.
As we leave for Kuala Lumpur again I looked
once more beyond the gates, at the doorstep where my grandparents used to
welcome us. But I didn’t wanna see it that way. I didn’t wanna think that way.
I’d like to think of the time when he was there welcoming us with a warm smile
and open arms. Just like my last visit when he mustered all his energy to smile
and lift his hand, giving me a wave. I’d like to think how happy he was when we
reached his doorstep everytime during our visit.
To a man who I never really knew, but whose
legacy is a massive influence to me, or perhaps anyone.
I will remember the all the things he told me,
even if they are in faint memories.
I will always remember.
