Then.. the 1970's

I was born in a small village and spent my early years in a two rooms wooden house very near to a paddy field. My mom work as a rubber tapper and my dad was an overseer in a company called Malacca Oil Palm Plantation. We may not be rich, in-fact we're poor, but the love that was given to us by our mom and dad could surpass any luxury the world could offer. I felt richer.. and happy; that at times when I looked back.. I always cried to realise how lucky I am.

We have a beautiful small house, surrounded by a lot of trees and some bougenvillae that my mom planted whenever she got time to do that. Across the street facing to our house, there are bamboo trees that often gave me both beautiful sight and eerie feelings. I always like the smell of it after rain and in the morning and the sight of a rain or dew drops on their leaves. I couldn't explain quite how, but I felt at ease whenever I looked at it.

At the back of the house, there's a well that we use for bathing and washing. It often reminded me of how fun it was, throwing the pail in the well and pull it up, felt the water splash on my chest and feet, the clattering teeth and shivering body from it's coldness. On some days we even had fish that got into the pail; that my brother will catch and put them in the 'tempayan' with all other fishes that were caught before.

On most weekends, when my sister and brother was not schooling, we will spent the morning at the well washing our clothes, especially their school uniforms, school shoes etc, My sister will do the washing, my brother will pick the water and I will stay in the basin, playing with the water while pretending that I'm swimming in a pond or a lake with my brother every now and then will pour the water from the pail onto my head.