Scents from my childhood

I was born in a small town South of Kuala Lumpur called Seremban in the state of Negeri Sembilan, Malaysia to a teacher and a government servant. I am a descendant of a mixed bloodline; Javanese on my mother's side and Chinese on my father's side. My Javanese ancestors were originally from Sumatera who migrated to Malaya via the straits of Malacca and anchored in Jelebu, Negeri Sembilan. Jelebu's economy was mainly agricultural. Majority of the Javanese immigrants who decided to have a foothold there found means of generating income by working in paddy fields or fruit orchards. My great grandfather was a man of faith whom also worked the land. When they moved to Seremban, they acquired a land and built them a house that sat on top of a hill, in the middle of a fruit orchard that could only be accessed by foot. The orchard that surrounded the house thrived better if the surrounding terrain was left as much untouched as possible. The pathway that led to the house was under a green canopy of 30-year-old trees with barks as big as three of me put together. As a kid, I looked forward to every trips to my great grandparents' house. It was an adventure set in nature with backdrops of shades of browns and greens.

It was a big house made of timber that had a very peculiar architecture. The verandah which served as the receiving area or main foyer of the house sat on strategically positioned tall stilts. On Thursday nights, the men would congregate there after Isyak to recite Yasin, a scripture from the Quran. During durian season, the verandah also served as a hearing/waiting point way into the night. While we waited for the ripe ones to fall, my great grandfather would tell stories of his journey and imparted important life's lessons to his next generations; my grandmother, grand aunts and grand uncles, my mother, my uncs and aunts and yours truly included. As the first great grandchild, I had the privilege of enjoying his presence for a few years before he passed. Although I was too young to comprehend words of wisdom that he shared, I could still imagine his serene face looking down at me.

That segment of the house was connected to the private hall segment that had a very high ceiling structure. This area led to the master bedroom and the attic accessible via a narrow and creepy staircase located at the corner of the space. From the private hall segment an opening with a step down as steep as a stoney step of the Great Wall of China connected it to another hall. It was a large open space, where all the children, all twelve of my grand aunts and uncles including my grandmother would sleep. The lowest and final segment of the house which were the dining and the kitchen were built on ground level. There were a series of steps or a step up/step down that would connect one segment to the other. The bathroom was situated at the side of the kitchen. To get to it, I must go out the side door and would find myself in the natural outdoor prior to being in the privacy of being behind closed bathroom door, which was only two steps to the left from the door to the backyard.

The house was surrounded by fruit trees - the king of fruits-durians, were planted at the plot infront of the verandah, several different hybrids of rambutans and mangoes were planted on the west-side, mangosteen and variety of guavas on the east-side. A good size herbs garden was also located in the east-side. As I opened the windows from the dining area, I was greeted by the sight of a very shady water-lily guava tree lusciously covered with its bell-like, fuschia-coloured fruits. That was the beginning of my love for fuschia.

Further up, were some rows of jackfruit and cempedak trees and on even higher ground to the north were clusters of coconut trees. Memories from those visits and of my great grandparents came at the sight of the color fuschia and of the sweet-smelling scents of fruits and herbs that used to eminate and filled the surrounding air of my childhood, depending on what fruit season it was.

My Chinese ancestors were part of Hang Li Po's team of hand-maidens and confidante who came to settle in Malacca when the Chinese princess was bethrothed and arranged to be married to Sultan Mahmud, the ruler of Malacca. A lot of them ended up marrying the local Malays, my dad's mother, a third generation of the famous princess' entourage was no exception. Her late great grandmother was given plots of land in Rembau, Negeri Sembilan as a reward at the end of her service to the royal court when she decided to get married to my late great, great grandfather. The family have been living off the bounties of the land that were planted with paddy for the past six generation up until today. Memories of my late grandmother was of a dainty woman with a brisk but quiet walk, almost as if she was floating rather than walking. Rice was not only a source of steady and consistent income for the family sold as staple food for the population but was also processed into 'bedak sejuk', (literally translated meant 'cold powder/talc') for personal use. Final product was in a form of dried droplets of opague pellets which would be added with water to form a paste and applied onto the face similar like a masque. Rice had been known to have skin refining, pore minimizing and whitening properties and have been incorporated into women from this continent's skincare and bodycare regiment for centuries.