THE HOUSE THAT
Memories made in writer’s childhood abode are too precious to let go
LAST week, the kitchen, in the house that Pak built, was filled with laughter, chatter and banter once again. As always, the table was overladen with food; home-made and bought from favourite eating haunts nearby.
Most of us siblings and spouses, children and grandchildren had arrived from Kuala Lumpur to the house, along what we fondly called White Water Lane, for a long-awaited reunion.
For a long time during Mak’s old age that led to her passing five years ago, it was left abandoned and would have collapsed due to termites and the ravages of time and, of course, neglect. But Ajie, my youngest sibling, decided to go back, and the renovation of the big house where we grew up would have made our late parents proud.
The house holds too many memories to let it go.
I remember the house that was newly built that became our pride and joy as it stood majestically beside Tuk’s house. In its early days, it was the centre point and refuge for relatives near and far.
Pak Lang and family used to come from that faraway island of Singapore. He is Mak’s brother from another mother. He and his siblings grew up there. Pak Tam would come back during his