We went back to the old hometown last weekend. Every trip back has always been an exhilarating one and this one is no different. Catching up with my folks over overflowing tables of food, I noticed that while some things are not the same anymore, there are others that have thankfully remained the same.
My favourite aunty for instance, has despite her age continued to deliver her mind blowing array of gastronomic delights. Every dish is painstakingly handmade herself, with every gram of food passing the most stringent of inspections. If there is a Malaccan version of Nigella, it has got to be her. Only better.
My run down kampong is still as run down. We ate half of our dinner in the dark and without ventilation, because the electricity had tripped. The staff in the restaurant were totally deadpan about it as well. I can only guess that we were considered lucky because at least we had lights and fans during the first half of dinner. Things like that would have put me off before but as I look back, it’s all but part of the charm of village life. It’s these uncertainties that made us thankful for the times when we had running water and food on the table.
As I watched my cousins’ kids playing with their own cousins, it dawned upon me that not so long ago (or at least it seems), that was me and my cousins. Every chance to get together was one precious opportunity for frolicking in the outdoors, with no recollection of responsibilities nor restrictions. I remember that holiday when we “harvested” vegetables, “cooked” them in a makeshift hawker cart, and forcing the rest to “buy” our culinary breakthrough. Good thing I was not evil enough then to force them to eat it as well.
I might now. :)
Thankfully I did not poison them then. How else could I witness such cute things that they fathered.
My brother loves to hold kids hostage.
Speaking of kids, they love us.
See, what did I tell you about kids loving us…
Aunty’s organic garden. Yum!
Bad Pitt and his retro but trusty C70.
Badgelina spotted in the kampong.