The Once A Simple Life

 

(Note: This was written 2 weeks ago as some sort of a sequel to my previous entry on kampong life)

 

It’s now 7:00am and unlike the usual rush hour morning beating the traffic to make it to office on time; I am now typing this journal at the most wonderful place I can ever wish for, enjoying my rather long year-end vacation with a specific mission (hope to write more about it later). I am now seated at the worn out sofa at my family home’s verandah back in the kampong.

 

I don’t know what it is with kampong ambiance which makes as though the clock ticking away very slowly, the day seems to be passing by very leisurely. The air is so soothing and refreshing, it seems like it is filled with more oxygen that enables me to breathe more calmly. The sound and feeling of calmness or nothingness around make it the most ideal place to de-stress any tired bodies.    

 

Perched on the rambutan trees that had just finished delivering the bountiful fruits, is a family of small little birdies. It is not as though there were no birds back in KL but the serene kampong ambiance makes the birds’ lovely chirping sounds more convincing and serenading. There are also cockerels which seem to have no other things in mind besides flirting and running after the voluptuous hens, although there’s clearly a group of young broods still trailing behind the hens. Hei guys, can you at least let the hens enjoy the leftover rice which Mak has just spread on the feeding ground first! And can anyone tell what exactly those funny looking birds are trying to say while cuckooing on top of the durian trees?

 

From where I am jotting this note, I can see Pak De is busy accumulating the dry rambutan & chempedak leaves and old coconut branches for burning. His IC says he is already 80 years old but we all suspect he is actually 5 years if not older than what the paper says, since his energy or rather quite youthful look makes people half his age envious with both curiosity and guilt. Can you imagine not seeing obvious strays of grey hair for 80-year old man, and when we pester him to share his secrets, he just smiles and says maybe it is all the bitter ulam-ulam he is very fond of. Oookie, I guess I’ll just stick to visiting the hair salon for the necessary hair makeover then, *chuckle*.

 

Pak De has been up to his sleeves since 6:30am this morning while I was still shivering taking shower and washing up before the prayer this morning. Once he is done with them, he moves on to water the chili trees, the lady fingers, the brinjals, and all the ulam-ulam. His tiny garden seems to provide endless supplies of fresh vegetables for him and Kak T, his daughter who is staying with him after Mak De passed away about 15 years ago. Kak T a fulltime housewife and her lovely family of 6 are like my own family, not just cousins; and I suspect Mak sometimes feels that too. Well, being away from home, it is quite hard for me and my sister to be home for every single kenduri that Mak and Bapak arrange. It is Kak T, plus Mak Su, who has always been helping Mak prepare for the all kenduris. Sometimes, when I am home and almost bringing down the kitchen looking for ingredients to make asam pedas, it is Kak T would inform me where Mak is keeping all the asam keping, which part of Mak’s small garden is housing the daun kesum and all.

 

Sadly, it seems like life back in kampong is not all that rosy all the times nowadays; there are genetic urban problems which seem to be creeping slowly into the once lovely fairy tale like kampong life. That is what Mak, Bapak, and Kak T have been telling me and my sister when we confess how we enjoy our short stay back in kampong. There are increasing numbers of burglaries by desperate drug addicts, there are also hideous stories being discreetly passed around the households on unwanted and out-of-wedlock pregnancies among teenagers and college-going students, and the occurrence has become much more rampant. Kak Y, another cousin, who is a medical officer at the nearby hospital’s maternity ward, has also been supporting the story by sharing with me the grim and sky-rocketing numbers of such incidents.    

 

That’s the price of modernization I supposed, not that I am condoning the ugly acts. My once a sleepy hollow small town is transforming into a bigger township, and with all those modern factories and community colleges mushrooming almost every other day, there bound to be exceptions to the patronizing glory stories.