Last week, I spent a few days away from Metrocity, Kuching and stayed at my niece’s bungalow in Merdang Lumut, Samarindah, Kota Samarahan. A former classmate, who now holds an MBA from Universiti Malaysia Sarawak (UNIMAS), found me there, sitting by the fish pond.
“Are you enjoying the fresh air and serene view, bro?” he asked.
“Well, just thinking, bro,” I replied.
The man, a year younger than me, chuckled.
“Is this one way to look for inspiration for your next column article, huh?”
“No, just thinking. Simply thinking and pondering.”
Such opportunities for mere contemplation and pondering are rare, especially when alone and undisturbed. Our offices and homes, particularly in cities, are not conducive to quiet reflection.
Even in semi-urban settings, our houses often reverberate with noises — the cloth dryer whirls, dishes clatter and hiss, the vacuum cleaner hums, and toddlers clamour for attention or toys. Outdoors, it’s challenging to find a tranquil lakeside or a peaceful stream bank suitable for a pensive hour.After years of
various work engagements, many of us have grown accustomed to these constant human activities and accept them as inevitable.
Many, including my significant other, view thoughtful solitude as abnormal. The implication is that the human spirit is being diverted from the profound allure of its own company.
People weren’t always like this; even teenagers, like me when I was one, enjoyed moments of quiet contemplation. Between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, during my first three years at Saratok Government Secondary School in Saratok, I spent hours reading novels borrowed from the school library during weekends and holidays — perched atop my favourite tree at the edge of the jungle, next to our humble abode in our Bukit Tinggi rubber plantation along the Melupa River, a tributary of Krian.
Occasionally, I was interrupted by the impatient meows of my cat Embin below the tree. Over the years, I’ve read most, if not all, of the simplified versions of Shakespeare’s works, including ‘Julius Caesar’, ‘Macbeth’, ‘Hamlet’, ‘Much Ado About Nothing’, ‘King Lear’, ‘Romeo and Juliet’, ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and many more.
Sometimes, I would sit there, lost in thought, oblivious to the cacophony around me, some twenty feet above the ground— for hours. My recent rendezvous by the pond last week was a fond reminder of the treetop platform of the late 1960s, though this time it was a moment of introspection.
Years later, at the age of 19, I, along with two other cousins, spent three days camping in the Sebirong jungle by the Assam tributary of Melupa, enjoying rod fishing in the crystal-clear stream.
There were moments when we contemplated and were as silent as the wilderness. We lost track of the outside world and disconnected from civilisation.
In 1982, during an overnight journey of an eight-day scout leadership training course in Santubong, I stumbled and broke my glasses, leaving me immobile due to my impaired vision.
While the others hurried back to the camp base on foot, a two-hour journey, I was left alone by the seaside at Telok Belian, near the present Damai Resort.
Knowing that help was coming, I built a fire to signal my location. I don’t recall feeling lonely, but there was much to ponder, including at least two hours of contemplation before Sarawak Chief Scout Commissioner Safri Awang Zaidel (now Tan Sri Datuk Seri) and a few others came to my rescue by chartered speedboat.
It was a rare moment when I was compelled to consider various alternatives just in case rescue didn’t arrive. On a positive note, I hoped that one day someone would come across my lost scout name tag, especially someone involved in the scouting movement.
At that time, I never imagined that I would later become the state’s scouting publicity commissioner, a position I held until my resignation in 2019.
Nevertheless, I did contemplate becoming a member of the state scout training team after earning my two-bead Woodbadge. This aspiration became a reality about four or five years later in 1987 when Dr Wan Junaidi Tuanku Jaafar (now our TYT the Governor and addressed as Tun Pehin Sri) attended one of my lectures during a Woodbadge Part IVA course at the Scouts Headquarters in Kuching. He later succeeded Safri Awang as the State Chief Scout Commissioner.
As a boy, I spent hours in the evening gazing at the sky, especially in the late afternoon as the sun set — “daydreaming,” as it was called.
Neither of my parents objected; after all, they were unaware, as I was alone amidst the greenery of the shifting cultivation during the wedding season, a setting reminiscent of scenes that would have inspired Van Gogh, Gauguin or Monet.
These moments gave me space to think and plan, though it wasn’t until two decades later that I learned about these great painters.In today’s society, for today’s educated parents, a boy in solit
ude could be a cause for concern. Many fear that isolation is dangerous. A boy lost in reverie is promptly encouraged to join others in play, lest he become antisocial.
While many believe that daydreamers grow up to be achievers or doers, this is only possible if they are given the freedom to think and adapt to the evolving demands of their environment. A boy deprived of this mental space will struggle to adjust and meet the current environmental challenges.
Without time to understand himself, he will struggle to make the best decisions for his future, leading to being “misadjusted”, a situation that denies the world the opportunity to benefit from his full potential.
Conversely, our modern world needs thinkers who can tackle the monumental challenges unique to the 21st century, an era of globalisation and a world without borders.
Take a moment or two to think, longer if it suits you. By the day’s end, you might find solutions to long-standing problems, or even find yourself counted among the great thinkers of the 21st century. Who knows? As we age, we have more time for contemplation, and now, at 70, I find that simply thinking is beneficial for our health.
After an hour of simple conversation and reminiscing about our past, my friend departed, promising to contemplate the future after turning 70 next year. I wish him and all those who value moments of contemplation and introspection good luck as they explore the benefits of thoughtful reflection.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune.
