Graphic: 123rf
A few years ago, I travelled to Johor where I had spent much of my childhood. It was something I wanted to do, to tick off on my bucket list. I looked for my old schools and the old LLN quarters (Lembaga Letrik Negara/ National Electricity Board) where my family and I used to stay.
In Pontian, the LLN quarters that was my home, surrounded by beautiful angsana trees, was gone. In its place was a bustling street and the main office of TNB. I stood there for a while, looking at reality while reminiscing about the past.
Many years ago, my family and I lived here in those modest quarters along with other families whose fathers worked for LLN. We were a large, noisy family of eight kids.
My neighbour was a Chinese family comprising the mum, dad, a teenage daughter and two sons. This story is about Ah Tak, the older son, my childhood friend.One day, while sitting in front of my house, a young Chinese boy popped out of nowhere.
"Hello. My name is Ah Tak. What is your name?"
I told him my name. He asked me, "Do you want to be friends?""Okay," I giggled shyly, glad to have a friend around my own age.
"You know, that's not his real name," my brother Din, told me later when I informed him that I had made a new friend.
"Really, then what is his real name?" I asked.
"Well, Low is his family name. Tak is part of his name and Ah is something they just tag on," my brother smiled, clearly amused at my confusion.
Ah Tak and I spent many afternoons together or maybe I kept following him around like a puppy, my brother suggested.
Once, I saw him lighting joss sticks and asked him what he was doing.
"Offering prayers," he answered.
"First, you take three joss sticks, light them. Then you move them up and down like this, six times. Lastly, stick the joss sticks into the bowl of sand," he explained.
"Why, six times?" I asked.
"Not sure, but I was told I had to do it six times," Ah Tak informed me.
Some days later, I saw him burning some odd looking paper at the side of the road.
"What are you doing?" I asked Ah Tak, my eyes wide with wonderment.
"Burning money for my grandpa. He died recently so I am burning money for him for his afterlife."
"Oh, let me help you," I said, thinking fondly of my own grandfather.
Ah Tak smiled and we squatted together at the side of the road – a scruffy, little Malay girl and a pale Chinese boy, burning hell money.
Another memory etched in my mind is of the time a Chinese Opera troupe set up stage at a nearby field. Ah Tak and I heard the loud clanging of cymbals so we walked towards the stage. I saw empty seats in the front row and tugged at Ah Tak's hand.
"No, we can't sit there," Ah Tak protested but didn't tell me why.
I pouted but agreed to sit several rows behind. I saw actors with colourfully painted faces, in fancy costumes, chanting in a language I did not understand,
"What are they saying?" I asked.
"I don't know," Ah Tak replied. So, we sat there looking at the Chinese Opera singers, marvelling at the sights and sounds but understanding nothing.
I also remember, walking past a Chinese temple when Ah Tak turned to me and inquired,
"You want to go inside the temple?
"Yes, but won't the people inside get angry?" The thought of being chased out by an angry monk in kung fu attire, holding a broom, frightened me.
Ah Tak chuckled, shook his head and together we ventured into the quiet, dark temple. No one was there as we walked about. Not even a monk.
For lunch that day, we sat together at the back of our houses. Ah Tak saw my sambal fish and said that he had never eaten this dish before. I gave him some and, to my surprise, he liked it though it was spicy.
"When I grow up, I want to be a Muslim," said Ah Tak, with the earnestness and innocence of a six-year-old boy.
My last memory of Ah Tak took place on my first day of school. There I was, feeling uncomfortable in my school pinafore, and there he was, in his white collared shirt and dark blue shorts. He smiled at me as if to say I looked nice but different. We never got to spend any more time together after that day.
The following year, my family moved to another town and I never saw Ah Tak again.To this day, I often think of Ah Tak and wonder where he is and how he is doing.
My childhood days spent with him affected me in ways I could not understand then. Through my school years and adult life, my childhood experiences with Ah Tak have helped me bridge racial divides. They made me realise and understand that despite our differences in race and religion, at the very core, we are very much the same.
