My daughter-in-law, Rachel was intrigued by a booklet on my maternal family tree, thoughtfully compiled years ago by one of my Muslim uncles (Read here). Over time, my extended family has evolved into a richly diverse lineage - both multi-racial and multi-religious - through intermarriages with people of different ethnic backgrounds. Among those of the Christian faith, our relatives now include Roman Catholics, Anglicans, Seventh-day Adventists, and BCCM/Lutherans, reflecting a tapestry of faiths that mirrors the changing fabric of Malaysia itself.
Earlier, I had promised my granddaughter Livvie that I would take her to see the old track I once used to reach my childhood home - a humble house built in a quiet valley next to Jalan Istana (Read here) and (Read here).
On 11 March 2024, that promise was fulfilled. I cannot be sure what Livvie felt as she stood on the steep trail for the first time, but for me, the moment was deeply moving. It felt almost surreal that, nearly three-quarters of a century after my grandfather and his son built that house in the late 1940s, members of our family’s third, fourth, and fifth generations could stand together once again on the very ground where my own life began.
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We continued our journey and visited my old school premise situated at the end of Jalan Pinggir. This is the third visit since the CNY of this year. My son Paul and his wife visited on 8 February 2024 (
Read here) and followed by the second visit with my former classmates on 18 February 2024 (
Read here).
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Coincidentally, during one of the evening excursions organized for guests at Shangri-La Rasa Ria, we were taken on a guided walk through the surrounding forest to spot birds, snakes, and small animals. Along the trail, our guide stopped at a traditional bamboo hut - a simple structure that instantly brought back memories for me. It closely resembled the bamboo house where my grandmother and her family once lived in Kampong Pulutan, back in the mid to late 1900s (Read here).
This humble hut within the hotel grounds serves as a small cultural exhibit, showcasing the Kulintangan, a traditional musical instrument of the Kadazandusun and Bajau communities. The Kulintangan is an idiophone ensemble consisting of six to nine small brass kettle gongs, each producing a distinct pitch. These gongs are carefully arranged on a low wooden frame, resting on rattan strings that allow them to resonate beautifully when struck. Once an essential feature of community celebrations and rituals, the Kulintangan continues to symbolize the rhythm and harmony of Sabah’s indigenous heritage.
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During this short holiday, my daughter-in-law was especially eager to taste tarap - a fruit native to Borneo and beloved by locals for its fragrant aroma and creamy sweetness. Back in my childhood days, tarap trees grew abundantly around our village home. In fact, our old family radio’s long wire antenna was strung between two tarap trees - quite literally connecting us to the world through the very trees that fed us. You could say that tarap was deeply woven into the fabric of our village life.
Typical wire antenna tied to roof tops and typical old radio.
There were also several tarap trees at my grandmother’s house in Kampong Pulutan, alongside many other fruit trees she lovingly planted. Sadly, our efforts to find tarap during this trip were in vain - it simply wasn’t the fruiting season.
As for my granddaughter, Livvie, she had no memory of ever eating
tarap, even when I showed her photos of herself enjoying the fruit during her trip to Kota Kinabalu in September 2019 (
Read here). That was understandable, of course - she was only two and a half years old then!
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| Tarap Tree (Photo taken in a fruits farm in Beaufort). |
Photos of tarap tree and fruit downloaded from Internet.
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