A Place in My Heart
The ice-cream seller wore a round white solid hat, the colour contrasting with his skin, darkened by the harsh equatorial sunlight. The freezer box sat on a tricycle placed against the grey-brown walls of the house. There were other vendors invited to cater for this children's birthday party, but this purveyor of frozen delights stands out in my memory.
The party was organised by the Lim family, supervised over benignly by a doctor who always wore fitting clothes and whose big eyes shone out behind her glasses. Whether adorned in her traditional kebaya blouse or in her Western fashion, she always provided a picture of orderliness, kind straight talking and a twist of humour. I loved going to visit her and her family on Sunday evenings, and also because I enjoyed interacting with her children. I also had opportunity to stay overnight at times with her sons, and her youngest daughter is like the sister I never had.
There were the picnics by the rather sheltered beaches of my home island - and I can recall the sandy mats, the tasty snacks and the bungalows beside the palm trees. Did we all dig for mussels, I wonder, and I think we must have. When I think of this lady, I recall dinners with braised mutton and steamed okras. When it was Chinese New Year in the latter years, I recall the pickled plums and other fruits. Weekend mornings in a teenage year meant the breakfasts from the coffee shops in the suburb of Pulau Tikus on Penang Island.
Uncle Harry is a keen sports shooter and I remember the fruit bats from across the channel. My memories of the Lim family come from the mists of my birthplace. Even in Australia, my fondness of events past but still in my heart include the peal of their laughter on lazy afternoons and the rhythm of piano music during relaxing parties. I still slip easily into the familiarity of friendship with May Lim when I return to my home island on visits, as though I had never left.
I am told that human beings leave a place in their hearts for what certain others especially do for them. I should not say I am told, becasue I know.
Goodbye, Dr Yeoh. I celebrate your life in my heart.
The party was organised by the Lim family, supervised over benignly by a doctor who always wore fitting clothes and whose big eyes shone out behind her glasses. Whether adorned in her traditional kebaya blouse or in her Western fashion, she always provided a picture of orderliness, kind straight talking and a twist of humour. I loved going to visit her and her family on Sunday evenings, and also because I enjoyed interacting with her children. I also had opportunity to stay overnight at times with her sons, and her youngest daughter is like the sister I never had.
There were the picnics by the rather sheltered beaches of my home island - and I can recall the sandy mats, the tasty snacks and the bungalows beside the palm trees. Did we all dig for mussels, I wonder, and I think we must have. When I think of this lady, I recall dinners with braised mutton and steamed okras. When it was Chinese New Year in the latter years, I recall the pickled plums and other fruits. Weekend mornings in a teenage year meant the breakfasts from the coffee shops in the suburb of Pulau Tikus on Penang Island.
Uncle Harry is a keen sports shooter and I remember the fruit bats from across the channel. My memories of the Lim family come from the mists of my birthplace. Even in Australia, my fondness of events past but still in my heart include the peal of their laughter on lazy afternoons and the rhythm of piano music during relaxing parties. I still slip easily into the familiarity of friendship with May Lim when I return to my home island on visits, as though I had never left.
I am told that human beings leave a place in their hearts for what certain others especially do for them. I should not say I am told, becasue I know.
Goodbye, Dr Yeoh. I celebrate your life in my heart.
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