Unity starts with neighbourliness
Peggy Loh
MY siblings and I lived a good part of our childhood in staff quarters because of our parents’ jobs.
Although memories of my early years are a bit foggy, I vividly remember our home on the grounds of the Government Health Centre in Masai and its neighbourhood, especially the children whom we used to play with.
Our immediate neighbours were the staff nurse and assistant nurse, and their children were our regular playmates. Everyone is grown up now, with some holding high-powered jobs, but there was a time when we would roll about on the grassy slope between our houses, climb trees, play hide-and-seek as well as masak-masak using the leaves and flowers from plants in our compound.
Interestingly, although there were no fences between our homes, we never played in each other’s houses. In fact, we were constantly outdoors, sharing a special time and cultivating lifelong friendships in a carefree manner.
I even recall watching our neighbours help feed the two young Malay boys rice with asam pedas. The distinct fragrance of asam pedas stayed with me and now every time I taste it, I think of Nahar and Najib. I remember coming out to play after a downpour one day and retreating in shock on seeing the boys frolicking in the grassy puddles with their toddler brother who was stark naked. Did I mention that it was quite an educational moment?
We got on very well with our neighbours probably simply because it was what our parents did. In the 13 years that they were based in Masai, my parents had a great friendship with the other staff. When any staff got a transfer, we would be very sad to part with our playmates. But we would always find happiness in meeting and getting acquainted with the children of the new staff.
English was the main language at home. So when I first heard mum speak Malay, I was stunned by her fluency. She would speak the language like a native, complete with colloquial consonants. Later, I found that she could also speak various tongue-twisting Chinese dialects. But if mum’s language proficiency shocked me, dad’s ability to converse in Tamil left me speechless.
On watching him speak Tamil to an Indian man one day, I asked dad how he learnt the language. He explained that it was during his stint at the Johor Baru General Hospital. During night shifts, his Indian colleagues would pass the time on quiet nights teaching him Tamil.
With a well-rounded, muhibbah upbringing, my siblings and I are well-aware that there can be unity in spite of our differences. In school and now at work, we have always established friendships with people of all races due to our ability to fit into various cultural settings.
When dad retired in 1977, we moved back to Johor Baru. Our house was in a residential area that came with a good mix of Malay, Chinese and Indian neighbours. We found that city dwellers were generally friendly people, with the exception of one or two. Having always been surrounded by friendly neighbours who exchange daily pleasantries, it felt like a blast of cold wind when our smiles were repeatedly ignored by a neighbour. But we managed to remain cordial in spite of their indifference.
Our friends today are a clear reflection of the values we were brought up with. When we have parties, it’s almost like a United Nations gathering. And that gives us an incredibly good feeling about ourselves. Now, this precious legacy has been passed down to our children. Our parents have certainly taught us well.
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