Mosquitoes swarmed around as I sat on the swing at Pa's house at 167, watching the sun set and the birds fly home. I breathed in the warm evening air, soaking in the surroundings- the sights, sounds, smells. This is probably my last chance to be at 167.
Since I moved and started a new life in Kuala Lumpur 2 decades ago, I've not had the chance to stay for long at the family home. Now I find myself staying an entire week, despite a tight work schedule and leaving four kids back home in KL in the care of their father. I will not get this chance again, because 167 will be changing hands soon. The family home has been sold. Along with the place we called home for the last 30 over years, we will be handing over a lifetime of memories to the new owner.
I wonder if he knows what 167 had meant to us. We moved here in the early 1970s, when the place was considered remote and no one wanted the property here. I was about 4, Kor 7 and sis 3. Another sis and little bro weren't even born yet. It was my parent's first own home, and he described the early years as the happiest moments of his life.
It's easy to see why- he felt his life was complete, he said. With a beautiful wife, 3 equally beautiful kids, his own home, his own car (a Renault), a stable job at BBC, there was nothing else he wanted. He was content to live that peaceful life forever...until Ma passed away 4 years later and things changed forever. Not that my stepmother didn't make the house the home- she did a perfect job. She's just...different from Ma.
And thus,167 continued evolving through the years.
I remember the Christmas tree Ma planted right smack in the middle of the lawn. We used to jump over it year after year, until it grew too tall for us. Before we realised it, it was a soaring tree. The same applied to the fruit trees in the backyard- we didn't notice them growing, but it wasn't long before the rambutan, soarsop, mango, orange and lime trees were fruiting.
I remember climbing the rambutan tree to pluck fruits and watching the bats hanging upside-down from the soursop tree. There was a starfruit tree where we used to tie chickens for a few days until it was time for the Big Feast. As they awaited their last days, they helped fertilise the tree with their droppings and acted as alarm clocks in the mornings. What I didn't like was helping in the slaughter. No wonder I'm not a doctor or nurse today - still can't stand the sight of blood.
Then there was the hedge that I tirelessly trimmed every year. It was a torture and God alone knows what kept me going till I finished the entire hedge that encompassed 167,a semi-D. Callouses and cuts did nothing to stop me from attacking them with vigour, ensuring they stayed in shape.
The gates and swing- we scraped and painted them every Chinese New Year. Pa's favourite colour was always khaki green, perhaps for its practicality and ability to cover dirt. Not to mention the windows and grills that we were forced to clean every other week. Disciplinary training, you say? You bet!
I must admit a big part of me died the day they decided to renovate the house in the early 1990s. It was the toughest period of my life, trying to find my own identity and seeking a new life in KL - and coming home to the mess of a home in renovation did nothing to relieve the pain. I cried buckets the day sis called to say they chopped down the Christmas tree.
167 was never the same again.
Yes, it was more spacious, modern, comfy...but it seemed to have lost something. It took me another 20 years to get used to the modern interiors and cemented lawn. I missed the flowers, the trees, the vegetable plots, the little nooks and corners where we used to play. There was even a spot where Kor used to tell us that if we dug deep enough, we could reach China. And yes, I really believed him then.
We all had mixed feelings when told 167 had been sold. In a way, I'm glad the transaction went though, because Pa had been worrying about it being a white elephant since he bought his new Setia home.But yes, there's the sadness that comes with knowing that yet another (big) chapter of our lives has come to an end- the 167 chapter.
Why did he choose to move out if we were so comfy here for the last almost 4 decades? First there was the new highway that's coming up right in front of the area. There'll be noise, carbon monoxide, heavy traffic. Then there's the fortune teller's prophecy that this area has lost its glory in the 21st century, so youngsters (eg little bro) will never prosper if they persisted in this area. In short, bad fengshui.
I hear the new owner is a young man on the verge of starting a new life with his fiancee. He doesn't know yet that he picked up a gem of a home. What he gets is all the laughter, tears, hopes, fears, hopes of four generations- a family who pulled through some major thicks and thins for the last 40 years.
As 167 goes to this lucky man, I wish for him all the joys and wonders we had ever experienced in this home. May he have happy children whose laughter and tears enliven the home, and lots of love from his family and friends who will pass by or stay under the same roof.
167 Pasir Pelangi will always be a part of us, even though we no longer own the home. It's time to move on, but the memories is something we can never forget. Sayonara...our Home Sweet Home.
