Like Frogs We Can't Skip Our Past

My friend bought a house with a pond but decided that she did not want the pond. So she had it transformed into something else, not realising that she was about to face another problem.

The pond was once home to a bunch of happy frogs. Even after the pond was drained, to her horror, she discovered a mass of dead tadpoles lying there.

Apparently, frogs go back to the pond where they were born to spawn. It is probably that they use magnetoreception to locate the general position of their home ground.

At some point or another we are also interested in our roots.

In Ireland ancestry tracing is big time. We have television programmes like ‘Who do you think you are?’ Every week, a popular personality traces his roots. This journey through generations of ordinary lives reveals extraordinary stories. 

Since I was back in Malaysia recently, I went back to my hometown which had become almost unrecognizable. The roads that I once cycled on had become very busy one-way streets as cars zoomed noisily on them. The schools that I went to all looked so different. There used to be a rubber estate next to my primary school and in our school uniforms, we would excitedly look for birds’ nests and such during recess time. There was also a stream where we could wash our palettes and brushes after art class. A housing estate now stands in its place and the school is fenced in with barb wire.

Tengku Mariam Primary School

Temenggong Ibrahim Girls' School (secondary)

Batu Pahat High School (Form 6 )

I miss the old.

As it was the school break, there was no one around. So I sneaked into a classroom and sat on a small wooden chair and relived the moments of my primary school days.

I could actually hear the ‘ghost of teacher-past’ telling me about Amsterdam and cheese and clogs. Geography was one of my favourite subjects and that planted the ‘I must see the world’ seed in me. If only I could tell the teacher that I have visited Amsterdam, tasted the cheese and worn the clogs.

I used to be very afraid of entering the school toilet because of all the ghost stories associated with it. So I purposely made a trip into one, to confront my fears.

Next was a visit to my favourite haunts. Somehow everything was magnified through the eyes of a child. The hawker stalls seemed more varied then and the food I thought was the food of gods, failed to convince. However, visiting the houses that I once lived in and the town park where my father brought me in a trishaw to play, brought back irreplaceable memories and pride.

I could not trace my ancestral line beyond my parents. Although I have no affinity towards any living relations, it would be rather interesting to see the village in China where my father had lived as a child.

As I savoured the local coffee served in a porcelain cup and saucer (complete with a small porcelain spoon to stir the coffee) I felt that taking a trip down memory lane is a trip of affirmation. It affirms my perception of life – the familiar and the unfamiliar. The town of one’s childhood has a lot of say about who we are and what we have become. In fact, many great people have come from my town – the respectable and the bohemian.

It is a lovely thing to go back to where we were born.

So why should I be surprised if frogs go back to the same place to spawn?

The last I heard of it, my friend has decided to reopen the pond for the frogs.

If you can’t beat them, join them.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS  15 March 2015 TIMES http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150315nstnews/index.html#/19/