The Simple Life

My office is located in PJ Old Town; in the midst of low rise shophouses and a Malay kampung. As I walked towards my car tonight, I looked around and through a door left slightly ajar, saw glimpses of a simple wall hanging and sofa set. The hanging I saw was in varnished wood; the sofa low cost, those with wood frames and square cushions. The house was typical modern kampung style, single storey, made of cement blocks with standard issue doors and windows. But it exuded a warmth no amount of money could buy. As I walked along, I saw children waiting for mengaji to start. In the day, there would be kids playing on the streets, Pakciks gardening, chickens and cats. The place is alive and full of cheer.

I was transported to a previous life long, long ago, before I was acquainted with expats, Chili’s and salsa bars.

Those were the days when I was small, living with my grandparents in Batu Pahat, Johor. They were typically Javanese, as were most of the other kampung folk. The house was made of wood, elevated on stilts. The cracks between the floors and surrounding greenery ensured that nights were cool. When I woke up, I’d go and warm myself at the wood stove, where a kettle would be boiling away. Breakfast was usually boiled keledek, ubi or keladi served with sambal tumis or coconut and sugar. Sometimes Nyai (grandma) would make getuk or fry rice for a change. Then Yaie (grandfather) would go to tap rubber; Nyai and I would go to the kebun nearby to tend to the subsistence crops. We planted corn, ubi, keladi, keledek, cili, nenas and kangkung. Lunch and dinner were simple affairs. The usual fare was rice with ‘sayur bening’, tempeh, a bit of fish or sardines. Chickens were hard work; we had to slaughter and clean them ourselves. We sat on mats on the floor. There was neither electricity nor tap water. In the afternoons Nyai would sit on the anjung, making spare attap roof sheets or mending or sewing or cooking or something. We reared chicken. There was never an idle moment. Nights, we’d go to the nearby mesjid. I loved seeing the kunang2 that sometimes appear. If there was a wedding coming up, we'd go to help out days before the event. Otherwise, we would be in bed by ten, resting for the next day.

What stayed with me was the attachment I felt, the sense of belonging, love and security. The house was very simply furnished; but it was always clean, airy and smelled nice. That was something I’ll always remember – homes must smell nice and welcoming. I remember small things like Yaie’s shirt hanging on the wall, smelling of his minyak attar. Nyai’s Minyak Zam Zam. Making garlands of bunga tanjung for her hair. The kenanga tree outside my favourite window. My cousins and friends lived nearby. We often shared nasi berkat if anyone went to a kenduri. Nyai was always around, I could tell her anything. We had few belongings, but we had each other, it was enough. Guess I’ll always be a kampung girl at heart.

My grandparents are no longer here. Where I stay now, I hardly know my own neighbours. I need to call before I can see my Dad or brother. Thankfully they live nearby. I do my level best to keep the house clean. It looks quite nice, but something is still missing, there is not much cheer. Even the cats are doddering old specimens. I invite friends over every so often. Husband and kids? Maybe. Someday.