I Miss My Childhood

The reeds and electrical wires near the river bring me back to a place in my mind.

1978. I have just come to the kampong house. Behind the house, there is a swamp, some trees and a river. It is so full of mud and stench and mosquitoes that we always keep that back door closed.

At the front of the house, once you exit the main gate, turn right and walk to the end of the road, the river beckons. This time, it is about fifteen to twenty metres wide, a roaring creature so full of life. It is where a lone house stands, with its wooden roof eaten away by the humidity and glass shards left strewn all over on the floor. I walk between those pieces of glass and think about the people who have lived there. In my mind's eye, I see a woman and her lover. No children.

I like this part of the kampong with the reeds and the electrical wires. I see Mom and Father flying a kite on a windy day. Sis is on the bicycle and Bro has vanished into the bushes. The reeds are swaying to the wind and I see Mom tugging at the string. Then they are shouting as the kite gets eaten up by the roaring river. We laugh madly.

One day, Mom tells me she is packing up and we are moving to a flat. She tells me she is throwing some of my toys. I do not know how to tell her the boy doll from Granny's place is precious to me. The next day, I find the boy doll missing. He is no longer sitting on top of the cupboard. I get anxious. I search everywhere. I do not know what made me open the back door leading to the swamp. And true enough, there he is. I find the boy doll sitting under a tree like the Buddha. I pick him up and bring him back home. Mom grumbles a bit and I say nothing, like always.

Places. And the people in them. They play back again in my mind as I take these walks here.