Wednesday, July 25, 2007

The Lost Generation

Picture by muddybok


“Mana pergi budak zaman sekarang? Budak zaman sekarang mana gheti nak appreciate the kampung life?”

My dad lamented.

*conversation with my dad at my late grandma’s kampung last week at Kuala Pilah.

I nodded in agreement. It's so sad when I see that the kids nowadays are more interested with their playstation and notebooks even when they are here.

When I was their age, I remember counting the days when the school holidays would start as we would all be plonked at the kampung for at least a good one week.

Once there, everyone would only see my face during breakfast, lunch and dinner. Other times would be busy trapping birds, buffalo riding, bathing in the river behind the paddy field, fishing for Gouramis and Ikan Betuk at the bogs and basically doing anything outdoors.

I remember saving up my pocket money for my first pen knife (I was too young to carry a parang) when I was 10 years old and chained it proudly to my pants pretending to be the Camel Adventure Team Man.

I knew which plants and fruits were edible, which trees branches were good for making swords – eg. Kayu cenderai, while using a tempurung kelapa as the hand guard and good ole real gunny string as the handle cover. Using pokok jambu batu for kayu lastik. (The cenderai leaves were natural sandpaper and I used to it to smooth my swords, bow and arrow and lastik wood).
I learnt to climb a coconut tree and pluck fresh coconuts and chewing on sugarcane sticks to get that sugar high.

I had no qualms walking in the mud and the paddy fields, pulling off leeches on my feet and between my toes, squeezing tobacco water (taken from my late grandma’s Rough Rider and Craven A ciggies) on them and seeing them roll off. I vividly remember that HUGE stripey lintah which bit my toe and left blood all over my rubber slippers.

I remember wearing my late grandmas huge Mengkuang hat (which you only see in painting nowadays) for protection against the rain or just a banana leaf. I remember seeing the tracks of the herd of wild boars that caused havoc around the tapioca trees.
I remember my late grandma sitting on the main stairs kissing me and saying "datang balik yor.." (come back again OK?) with tears rolling down her cheeks when we leave back for KL, everytime until she passed away in that house. Especially, that sad and fornlorn look on her face when my parents were putting the luggage in the trunk. ...

As I walked under the old Rambutan trees that was planted for each and every one of my siblings by my late grandmother thirty two years ago, I could not help but think about the past and how I am blessed to have such an experience.

It’s really ridiculous that you get doughy, untanned urbanites to actually PAY MONEY to get half of this experience nowadays. ….walking gingerly in the mud with their expensive Nike shoes and socks – looking like fat gullible tourists.

Me and Maine vowed that we shall not raise our kids to be environmentally illiterate…

Posted by The Ponchoman

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