A Home I Never Loved

WHO AM I?

Legally, I am a Singaporean Chinese. I could proudly say that I am a Singaporean boy that speaks Mandarin and is part of a Chinese household. However, who in Singapore could truly claim to be native to this land? I was not raised in China either, so where else could my cultural roots lie? Then I look at my parents, both born and raised in Malaysia. Such an obvious connection yet one that I never remember to be part of my identity. Malaysia was the Home I have lost from my childhood, the Home I Never Loved.

UNFOLDING

Taken by my wonderful Papa. I’m to the right.

Identity, an abstract yet fleeting concept I take for granted. There are no textbooks on how to form a proper identity. It is open-ended and has no fixed answer, so basically every Asians students’ worst nightmare. As a child who is legally Singaporean Chinese, my parents obviously stuck me with that label and knocked it into my little head. Being an Asian who used to hate being uncertain because of my crippling anxiety, this Singaporean Chinese sticker was thought to be the ultimate answer to my identity. Surely I cracked the case to this mystery of magnificent proportions, right?

Well, I was absolutely way off as my perspective on identity changed in my Diaspora class. It was in good ol’ NUS on a Tuesday afternoon, when my teacher asked the class “None of us are native to Singapore, so where do we actually originate from?” At this point, she really just wanted to drive home an idea mentioned in a single point amongst her hundreds of thousands of slides, but that single question made me question my own history. Yeah, my family didn’t really come from Singapore, did we? That was when my brain replayed all the mundane moments I had in my childhood which made me realize: I never knew what it means to be Malaysian.

NEGLECT

Photo taken by myself in my father’s hometown of Sarikei in Sarawak, Malaysia

Where do we even begin with being Malaysian? The food, my parents’ childhood, my extended family, all of which I barely can connect with today and pinpoint to this culture I was supposed to understand. I visit my relatives every year for Chinese New Year, we are all Chinese so we should get along right? Wrong, because my Mandarin is leagues worse than my relatives who spoke Mandarin all their lives and lived a ‘Malaysian’ life with ‘Malaysian’ friends - thanks younger me for not considering the long-term consequences of your decision to not take Chinese classes or trips to Malaysia seriously. My point is I never got to be in their circles. I see them hanging out during festivals, visiting each others’ homes regularly all while I watch idly from across the border with little chances to interact. Our cultures and education are so broadly different that I struggle to relate to their Malaysian experience.

Such a simple gathering of family in Malaysia, yet I struggled to fit in. Did I even bother?

This disconnect was all because of my neglect towards my parents. The best way to reconnect with my origins is through my direct predecessors, my parents, but I shoved their stories away. There is still a moment burned in my consciousness which I deeply regret. When they drove out to their old university faculty building to share about their lives, all I said was “yeah your f*ck-ulty”. The excitedness and joy to share their years’ worth stories dashed by a single word. To imagine I did that to them so many times, I rejected their favourite food, hated going out with them to their hometown, and chose to stay in the comfort of my own Singaporean Chinese little bubble. Thinking back, it pains me. I hurt them because of my selfish desires. So many opportunities to connect with my Malaysian heritage were lost because of how I was.

RETRIEVING LOST TIME

Time never waits for anyone. I only have one grandparent left, my mother’s hair is greying, and my father’s wrinkles are growing more apparent. My keys to connect with Malaysia are fading every day as time passes. Time will take away the only connections I have to my Malaysian family and heritage.

I want to restart my journey all over again. I will pick up the fragments of what I remember, the stories I hear every day and from my trips back to the land across the Causeway. As much as it would have been better to appreciate my Malaysian experiences many years ago, I will take whatever time there is left to accomplish what my parents had always set out to achieve: to remember and love Malaysia. All the stories, coffeeshop experiences, games with my relatives, my parents’ old university campus all came from a Home which I pushed away. Today, Malaysia is the Home I will Always Love.

Do you have A Home You Never Loved enough?