Chapter 22: A Glimpse of My Old House

Among the many old photographs my sister gave me, I finally came across a few that offered precious glimpses of the house I once called home in the village.

A family photo taken in 1965 in front of the old house. I am at right in back row.

A photo of the siblings taken in 1965.

The living room, situated at the heart of the house, was accessed by a five-step timber staircase. What made it unforgettable was the first step - the front bonnet of an old, abandoned Land Rover. That touch of rustic creativity still amazes me to this day.

To the right of the staircase stood the entrance to the kitchen, which had a bare dirt floor. Near the entrance, a makeshift board - patched together from weathered timber planks and propped against the wall - served as a barrier to keep chickens, ducks, and the occasional dog from wandering inside.

Behind the family members shown in the above photograph, just out of frame, was a small balcony - about four feet by six feet - without railings. Despite its modest size, that balcony holds some of my fondest childhood memories. It was there, in that humble space, that my mother would often gather us to share old tales and folk stories. Her vivid storytelling captivated our young minds and sparked our imaginations. On warm evenings after dinner, we’d lie on our backs, staring at the clouds drifting by and watching birds, eagles, and bats glide silently across the twilight sky.

Every Chinese New Year morning, we kids would jump out of bed with excitement, rushing outside to light firecrackers and toss them across the dirt compound. The true spirit of the celebration came alive when the earth turned crimson with the remnants of spent firecrackers - a joyful, festive sight that still lingers in my memory.

Just above the balcony was a window, and beside it stood our family’s sewing machine. I used to stand quietly on the balcony, peering through that window to watch my father work intently at his tailoring, especially on weekends. Those quiet moments of observation taught me how the sewing machine operated, and because of them, I still know how to do basic sewing to this day.

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This family photo, likely taken around 1967, offers a rare and precious glimpse of the front of our house as it once stood. In the background, you can see the base of the hill where the Istana - the State Governor’s Residence - is now located.

The house itself was modest in both design and construction, built with materials that would be considered substandard by today’s standards. Yet, it was the place where I spent the greater part of my childhood and teenage years. Despite its humble appearance, it was a home filled with warmth, laughter, and love.

Every creaking floorboard, every patched wall, every improvised fixture had a story of its own - and together, they formed the backdrop of a life rich in simple joys and cherished moments. To this day, I carry with me many fond memories of that first home. Whenever I think of it, a deep sense of comfort and nostalgia washes over me, as if part of my heart still resides within its old wooden walls.