Home Sweet Home
It had been a hectic week for us all. To squeeze everything for completion before the long weekend break was near impossible. Or so we all thought, right up till 11pm that Friday evening as we switched off the lights to the office and waved goodbye to the week that just eluded by.
It was too early a night or so I concluded to be retiring into comfortable pyjamas and a comforting mug of simmering hot chocolate. And so I asked if anyone was up for some drinks. I was in the mood to party, and so were thousands of others lining up the quay side pubs and cafes.
"I promised my wife I'll have supper with her", said one. Understandable. "I want to spend some time with my parents", said another. Forgivable, considering the hours we put in at work. I reckon he only gets to see his parents during the weekends, despite living in the same house.
"My cousins are coming over. We got a PS3 battle scheduled for tonight", said the other. I looked over my shoulder to the remaining two colleagues, half expecting them to bid farewell. I couldn't be bothered to know their interest level anymore. "Erm..I wanna spend time with the family", said one. "I'll join you", said the Malaysian.
Smiling, we eagerly trudged forward toward the taxi stand, half excited, and half asking what just happened a few brief moments ago. Brothers, Families, Children, Parents. Families. Such is the plight of expatriates, plying their trade, be it far away or just in the neighbouring countries, nevertheless, we're still alone. And more often than not, though I for sure hide it so well from my exterior, I do miss home. And I'm sure my Malaysian colleague felt the same way too.
The night didn't disappoint. We made new friends, we had fun, we sweated on the dance floor, and most importantly, for that few minutes, we felt like we were home, right up till the lights came on and suddenly, the dance floor seemed smaller as compared to when the lights were flickering along the pulsating bass lines. Then reality smacks us right back in the face. Time to go home. No. To loneliness.
"So Duncan, tell me, what's your fondest memory of home?", I asked. He didn't need to deliberate as he began his story.
"I was about ten", he flashed back. I could tell from the far away look in his eyes how his mind journeyed back in time. "It was the best time of my life. All the rascals were drafted into the same class. All of which were my closest friends. We rode our rusty bicycles to school each morning, laughing, mocking and mimicking the teachers we disliked in school."
"Then some time just after the mid year holidays, we had this milk campaign. We all had to order those liquid milk that came in packets of 6s. To grow strong bones and teeth they said. And for our art project, my friends and I, we decided to do up a wall mural. It was kind of like the ones you see in the doctor's waiting room. The ones with all the animals and you have to stand beside it to monitor your growth in height. And they had this giraffe as the tallest animal. We had that too. It was beautiful at the time."
"We grew up of course. Went to different schools. But we remained friends. Then during Chinese New Year earlier this year, I went back to my hometown. It was a ritual for most robust young men to venture out of small town Ipoh to harvest their rewards. My friends did it, and so did I. It was indescribable. The 5 of us, together once again. With money this time round. How trivial. Then one of them suggested to visit the old school."
"It didn't seem like fun at first, but we didn't have a better plan. And so with a couple of beers we drove toward that side of town. It wasn't difficult to spot the pale yellow walls of our former school. It was peeling with age, but the emblem still stood out proudly from the main building, with its bold lettering below it. The cemented road had major cracks in between, but that was it. The rest, was just as how we left it. Even the air smelt the same, except that it was silent now, missing were the frantic laughter of children within the compound."
"We trudged up toward the second floor and loitered along the corridor as we approached our former classroom. And as unimportant as it is, it was weird that we all still remembered where we sat and where the other blokes of the class were sitting. Good times we all thought. Then as we were about to leave, one of us wailed in delight as he pointed at the door entrance."
"There, in its faded glory was that mural we all did all those years back. You could still make out the numbers by the side if you were to just concentrate a little longer. The mural seemed midgety all of a sudden as we all seemed like overgrown giants now. But the mural brought about silence that moment. We didn't say it out, but I knew for a fact that at that exact moment, we all remembered who we really were and how innocent and fulfilling those growing up years were. It was a miracle how all of us faced life adversities from young punks to aspiring professionals. And for once in the longest time, we felt free."
I gasped as I tried to share the beautiful memory my friend had of his growing up days and home town. I didn't expect this for an answer to my question, but his story struck a chord in my heart. Sometimes people do not appreciate the fact that they have a home to go to every day, no matter how long they spend their time in the office, no matter how hard they slogged that day.
Brothers, Families, Children, Parents. Friends. Always close, but never close it seems for us expatriates. At best, we see them briefly perhaps once, twice....at best three times a year. If I were to ask that question to a hundred expats, I would get a hundred different answers. All of which reminds us of home in the unique manner we choose to remember it by. All of which, priceless as priceless can be, will forever be our Home Sweet Home picture.
