Tomb Sweeping
Awake. In the Darkness. The alarm clock greets me with its shrilly scream. Slowly I turn, tugging my doona over me, rubbing my eyes, and emitting a small groan. I reluctantly pull myself out of bed, my watch reminding me it is now 5am. As artificial light pierces my eyes, I wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair into a ponytail and get changed.
By 6am my father and I are in the van, driving towards my uncle's house. There is something sacred about being up this early in the morning, when it is still dark and damp, with cool air drifting aimlesly in the atmosphere, the silence, broken only by earlymorning bird call. The roads are desolate, a great contrast to the usual clutter and bustle of Kuala Lumpur streets.
My uncle's house is huge, beautiful and tastefully decorated with Iban relics, old wooden furniture and gorgeous tropical plants. He has an enormous pool that barely gets used now that his children are all studying overseas, and a large mainly empty house where he lives with his wife. My late grandma used to live with him, but now her room sits empty, echoing the remnants of the end of her life, where she suffered in silence with Parkinson's for near on 3 decades. Today, we are travelling to my father's hometown to pay our respects to our deceased ancestors, including my grandson- loving grandma (you should have seen her grasp boys to her chest, while us girls were left to flounder in another woman's arms). It is Qing Ming, when families gather to clean their ancestor's graves, make offerings and pay respects. We wait for my cousin, who is old enough to be my father (my father's family had 11 children so the age range is quite large), and head off in sleepy silence.
Teluk Intan, or Diamond River, is about a 2 hour drive out of KL, along lush green forests and palm oil plantations, acres and acres of unending greenery, interspersed with traditional stilted kampung (village) houses painted in bright colours, faded by the sun over the years. The town itself holds about 200,000 people, but has the feel of a sleepy country town, complete with tacky disco/ karaoke bar, old dilapidated buildings and small shophouses which haven't changed in 50 years. New structures impose themselves on the landscape- a new Sikh Gurudwara with its golden dome and spotless white interior, situated next to an old red brick church that would not look out of place in rural America. People wander around, feeling safe, in a vibrant mix of Indians, Chinese and Malays that live in relative harmony. There are only two leaning towers in the world- one in Pisa in Italy, the other in Teluk Intan (although it's not quite as leaning as the Italian counterpart). It acts as a water tank which progressively sunk into the ground due to water levels; it looks more like a super tall pagoda than a tank.
We arrive at the gravesite, surrounded by tall mature palm trees and more lush greenery. These are public plots handed out by the Chinese Association- couples are buried together in large round plots. Other families are gathered already, in the early morning mist, the sky now lit with gentle light, the sun still hiding behind cloud cover. We place incense and red waxy candles in a square prayer pot, remembering my grandfather and grandmother. There are plates of pink tinged steam buns on pandan leaves, roast pork with crispy skin, yellowed ginger chickens, sticky red and black glutinous rice puddings with a sweet bean filling, apples, plums and rice wine. These are placed at the graves and offered, in a tradition which I find somewhat pointless and with little meaning, especially since no one actually talks about our grandparents, or does any actual prayer. It really is an excuse for a family get together, which is fine in itself but I don't think anyone fools themselves into thinking that doing these kind of ceremonies actually help the dead or the living in any non tactical spiritual way. I find it strange to offer meat and alcohol especially at other festivals which are Buddhist in nature. Anyway, of course I don't express my views, but instead enjoy meeting many of my cousins who I have never seen, and my "nieces and nephews" who run around sprinkling coloured paper on the gravesite, happily walking on top of the deceased and smart mouthing the adults who cuddle and pinch them. My tiny five year old nephew (son of my cousin) expertly takes photos with a digital camera, his cute old man face wreathed in smiles. Everyone looks at me somewhat tentatively as we don't spend much time with this side of the family and they really know nothing about me. It's a long story..
After everyone has had their breakfast of Chee Cheong Fun (thick rice noodles rolled together and drizzled with a black sweet bean sauce, sprinkled with bits of pork) eaten deftly with chopsticks, we head off to my oldest uncle's gravesite, which is far grander and sits in a much larger plot. We have difficulty getting out of the first road as cars are piled upon each other both ways, crawling slowly around- four wheel drives, small locally made sedans, expensive Mercedes and BMWs, trucks, utes, vans... the people of Teluk Intan obviously do quite well for themselves.
Later, we arrive at my cousin's large house, where the children immediately head for the computer (which saddens me a little), and the men sit around talking business, sipping coffees and nibbling on tidbits, eating bowls of meat offered earlier to their dead parents. I sit with my cousin J and talk to him about life in KL- he too wants to move back to Australia as soon as he can, get married to his fiance and enjoy the outdoor life. I find that most Malaysian Chinese I meet who have studied overseas have little desire to return and remain in our homeland, for many many reasons. After a while, I am sitting alone, whilst everyone else is congregated in their little groups. Most of my cousins of my age group are not in attendance, being overseas studying or working. So I pull out my ipod and attempt to not fall asleep.
Before we head home, the men and I head to a small Mee Rebus (egg noodles with a boiled egg, crispy tofu and a mild curry sauce) stall where they all stuff their faces and finish their meal off with huge Ice Kacangs (shaved ice with kidney beans, cendol, jelly, creamed corn, condensed milk and pink cordial- trust me, it's goood), rubbing their tummies pleased. Of course, the talk revolves around business ventures, who-owns-which-building, gossip about so and so's wife who ran away with some dude, or my auntie who has a good for nothing husband; and of course, Golf. I sit quietly and smile, watching people eating and going on their way.
I fall asleep in the car on the way home, and two hours later am eating seaweed and tomatoes, then crawling into bed for two hours. It starts to rain heavily and I slumber to the sounds of it falling on the world.
By 6am my father and I are in the van, driving towards my uncle's house. There is something sacred about being up this early in the morning, when it is still dark and damp, with cool air drifting aimlesly in the atmosphere, the silence, broken only by earlymorning bird call. The roads are desolate, a great contrast to the usual clutter and bustle of Kuala Lumpur streets.
My uncle's house is huge, beautiful and tastefully decorated with Iban relics, old wooden furniture and gorgeous tropical plants. He has an enormous pool that barely gets used now that his children are all studying overseas, and a large mainly empty house where he lives with his wife. My late grandma used to live with him, but now her room sits empty, echoing the remnants of the end of her life, where she suffered in silence with Parkinson's for near on 3 decades. Today, we are travelling to my father's hometown to pay our respects to our deceased ancestors, including my grandson- loving grandma (you should have seen her grasp boys to her chest, while us girls were left to flounder in another woman's arms). It is Qing Ming, when families gather to clean their ancestor's graves, make offerings and pay respects. We wait for my cousin, who is old enough to be my father (my father's family had 11 children so the age range is quite large), and head off in sleepy silence.
Teluk Intan, or Diamond River, is about a 2 hour drive out of KL, along lush green forests and palm oil plantations, acres and acres of unending greenery, interspersed with traditional stilted kampung (village) houses painted in bright colours, faded by the sun over the years. The town itself holds about 200,000 people, but has the feel of a sleepy country town, complete with tacky disco/ karaoke bar, old dilapidated buildings and small shophouses which haven't changed in 50 years. New structures impose themselves on the landscape- a new Sikh Gurudwara with its golden dome and spotless white interior, situated next to an old red brick church that would not look out of place in rural America. People wander around, feeling safe, in a vibrant mix of Indians, Chinese and Malays that live in relative harmony. There are only two leaning towers in the world- one in Pisa in Italy, the other in Teluk Intan (although it's not quite as leaning as the Italian counterpart). It acts as a water tank which progressively sunk into the ground due to water levels; it looks more like a super tall pagoda than a tank.
We arrive at the gravesite, surrounded by tall mature palm trees and more lush greenery. These are public plots handed out by the Chinese Association- couples are buried together in large round plots. Other families are gathered already, in the early morning mist, the sky now lit with gentle light, the sun still hiding behind cloud cover. We place incense and red waxy candles in a square prayer pot, remembering my grandfather and grandmother. There are plates of pink tinged steam buns on pandan leaves, roast pork with crispy skin, yellowed ginger chickens, sticky red and black glutinous rice puddings with a sweet bean filling, apples, plums and rice wine. These are placed at the graves and offered, in a tradition which I find somewhat pointless and with little meaning, especially since no one actually talks about our grandparents, or does any actual prayer. It really is an excuse for a family get together, which is fine in itself but I don't think anyone fools themselves into thinking that doing these kind of ceremonies actually help the dead or the living in any non tactical spiritual way. I find it strange to offer meat and alcohol especially at other festivals which are Buddhist in nature. Anyway, of course I don't express my views, but instead enjoy meeting many of my cousins who I have never seen, and my "nieces and nephews" who run around sprinkling coloured paper on the gravesite, happily walking on top of the deceased and smart mouthing the adults who cuddle and pinch them. My tiny five year old nephew (son of my cousin) expertly takes photos with a digital camera, his cute old man face wreathed in smiles. Everyone looks at me somewhat tentatively as we don't spend much time with this side of the family and they really know nothing about me. It's a long story..
After everyone has had their breakfast of Chee Cheong Fun (thick rice noodles rolled together and drizzled with a black sweet bean sauce, sprinkled with bits of pork) eaten deftly with chopsticks, we head off to my oldest uncle's gravesite, which is far grander and sits in a much larger plot. We have difficulty getting out of the first road as cars are piled upon each other both ways, crawling slowly around- four wheel drives, small locally made sedans, expensive Mercedes and BMWs, trucks, utes, vans... the people of Teluk Intan obviously do quite well for themselves.
Later, we arrive at my cousin's large house, where the children immediately head for the computer (which saddens me a little), and the men sit around talking business, sipping coffees and nibbling on tidbits, eating bowls of meat offered earlier to their dead parents. I sit with my cousin J and talk to him about life in KL- he too wants to move back to Australia as soon as he can, get married to his fiance and enjoy the outdoor life. I find that most Malaysian Chinese I meet who have studied overseas have little desire to return and remain in our homeland, for many many reasons. After a while, I am sitting alone, whilst everyone else is congregated in their little groups. Most of my cousins of my age group are not in attendance, being overseas studying or working. So I pull out my ipod and attempt to not fall asleep.
Before we head home, the men and I head to a small Mee Rebus (egg noodles with a boiled egg, crispy tofu and a mild curry sauce) stall where they all stuff their faces and finish their meal off with huge Ice Kacangs (shaved ice with kidney beans, cendol, jelly, creamed corn, condensed milk and pink cordial- trust me, it's goood), rubbing their tummies pleased. Of course, the talk revolves around business ventures, who-owns-which-building, gossip about so and so's wife who ran away with some dude, or my auntie who has a good for nothing husband; and of course, Golf. I sit quietly and smile, watching people eating and going on their way.
I fall asleep in the car on the way home, and two hours later am eating seaweed and tomatoes, then crawling into bed for two hours. It starts to rain heavily and I slumber to the sounds of it falling on the world.