pulang ke kampong
Monday, Jul. 21, 2003

Imagine.

The cramped space is filled with the combined odour of perfume, smoke and sweat you find disturbingly pleasant.
Nubile young flesh rub against yours as you move erratically with the masses on the vibrating podium.
The pounding rhythm of the dance beats speeds up and lingers cruelly at that tempo for what seems an eternity, until at long last, the DJ relents and lets loose an aural assault of furious beats, leading to an almost blissful orgasmic end.

Imagine.

The cool, wooden house is quiet except for the hum of the ancient fan.
The warm evening makes the sweet juices of the succulent rambutan even sweeter on your parched throat.
You look up towards the window, and see a woman bending down in prayer towards Makkah as the last of the sun's crimson rays bid goodbye to the violet sky.
You hear wisps of a voice, strong and melodious and unmistakably male, chanting what you're almost positive is the Surah an-Nisa'.
Your heart suddenly feels heavy as a sweet melancholy sweeps over you.

I moved from one extreme to another in less than 12 hours. Talk about culture shock.
I love city life. I love the urgency and the activity of urban existence. I thrive on the collective calculated rudeness and indifference of city folk.
But a change of pace is always welcomed.
My mother decided to visit her mother during the weekend. I didn't object, I've always [sneakily?] liked the kampong.
And so there I was, slapping away mammoth mosquitoes on a chair in a darkened parlour older than my grandmother.

You see how the people here exist on bare essentials, and you feel ashamed of your excesses.
Their faith and humility makes you question your own hard-headedness.
You almost weep with shame and regret as your grandmother tells you of her faith in your integrity and morality.

It's a humbling experience.

A trip to the kampong never fails to strike up a desire in me to change the way I view and live my life.
But it always fizzles out by the time glaring city lights come into view.
I'm used to that bittersweet sensation in my breast; that feeling of inadequacy, of being lost and adrift, combined with the yearning to lead a life as simple and as pious as the one led by my grandmother.

It won't last.

I'm too much of a devil. *grin*



GLOSSARY:
kampong : hometown, specifically in rural areas
Makkah : Mecca, holiest city in Islam. Muslims pray in direction of the city.
rambutan : Nephelium lappaceum, sweet fruit indigenous to South East Asia. Click here to know more.
Surah : verses in the Al-Quran/Koran. an-Nisa' means "women", so Surah an-Nisa' literally means "verse of women".