I still remember a wandering petty trader who graced our farming community during my childhood in the 1950s and early 1960s. Seemingly without a permanent home, he traversed the landscape, driven by an insatiable curiosity and a yearning for new experiences. The joy lay in the journey rather than in
Our Neighbours in the 1960s In the early 1960s, about half a mile — roughly the length of eight football fields — from our paddy farm, lived a reclusive family. Like us, they remained on their farm from September to March, the farming season. When the season ended, most families,
I’m writing this in memory of a childhood friend whose distinct habit made a lasting impression on me. Growing up in our village in the 1960s and early 1970s, he had the habit of letting out a slow, tremulous sigh that echoed with the pain of unspoken sorrow, followed by
I remember growing up in our remote farming community in the 1950s and 1960s, there was a peculiar man who stood out from the farmers and part-time hunters in our village. His way of life was unlike anything I had ever seen. My mother said the man was a distant
When I was in primary school in the early 1960s, groups of like-minded boys naturally formed, sorting out social hierarchies within their little cliques. These groups weren’t very noticeable during school hours since we were in different classes, but outside of school, they merged. Of course, there were always a
In the wee hours of the morning, I woke up with a jolt. It was annoying because getting startled out of deep sleep is never pleasant. We didn’t have a clock or wristwatch in the early 1960s so I couldn’t tell the exact time. “Get up!” my mother whispered, careful
In our remote village located along the banks of a stony stream at the base of a forested mountain in Serian District (now Serian Division), about 40 miles from Kuching, there once lived a man who was deeply afraid of cemeteries. His fear coloured everything he did and thought. The
‘Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.’ – Langston Hughes (1902–1967); a prominent American poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, and columnist. As the band packed up and the curtains closed on yet another lacklustre performance, the dimly lit and poorly decorated
I have here not one story but a few short ones gathered from individuals that I came to know over the years on the sidelines of going about my journalistic jobs. They’re like pieces of a quilt, showing us different sides of love, heartbreak, and moving on. Each one gives
Timo worked as a guide-interpreter for a British army battalion stationed near Serian Town during the Indonesia-Malaysia Confrontation from 1963 to 1966. In 1963, I was in Primary 4 at our village’s mission school, and by 1966, I was a Form 1 student boarding at Serian Government Secondary School. During
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