ON the fourth day of Hari Raya Aidilfitri last week, my mother was frantically running around the house preparing for guests to arrive at our home in Tanjung Aru, Kota Kinabalu, Sabah.
It was then that she told me to go search for bottles of ice-cream soda. I gasped.
The fizzy drink, which serves as a base for delicious specialty drinks served during festive occasions, is not something you can easily find within my neighbourhood’s 3km radius.
With less than an hour to spare, I ventured into Tanjung Aru’s seaside town, just over a minute’s drive from our green-roofed abode.
This quaint town, a smidge smaller than Dataran Merdeka, has four 24-hour marts named after fruits and colours.
I was hopeful that at least one of these outlets could end my search for the fizzy drink, but they did not.
Thankfully, there were three other marts in the area.
Fate brought me to Kedai Lai Yaip, a has-it-all mart. It sells everything from daily household items, freshly squeezed santan, to liquor and plastic table covers.
I left Kedai Lai Yaip with 10 cans of the coveted soda. They ran out of the 1.5l bottle ones, apparently due to high demand during the festive season.
Tanjung Aru has been home for me since my family moved here about 14 years ago.
I spent the first half of my life growing up in the corner-lot unit of a semi-detached house in Taman Milek, Penampang.
The house was the venue for at least seven of my annual birthday celebrations, the battleground for balloon fights, and where friends and I would choreograph moves for our pretend-dance competitions.
I remember being an 8-year-old, without a care in the world, sneaking out from my parents’ bedroom window and adventuring on the roof.
They never knew, of course. I would quickly run back in every time I heard the gate being pushed open.
I used to ask mum to bring home small tubs of Buncho poster colour paints, in the dark brown shade, to paint the frames of the same window I used to sneak out from.
Its paint job was peeling, so I thought I’d help around the house and cover it up.
But I also remember writing “Abang Shaun (my brother) is crazy” in ink under one of the small patches of torn wallpaper. I don’t think my brother ever saw that one.
The location of our old home was strategic. There was enough space for dad to have a basketball hoop, and was just a stone’s throw from the taman’s playground.
Like any other child in the 90s, without the ever-present gadgets and mobile technology of today, most of my evenings were spent mastering the art of leaping from a moving swing and racing to the top of the jungle gym.
When friends came over, we played rounds of “Ice-Fire” at the playground. For the uninitiated, Ice-Fire is a tag game that requires the tagger to freeze his target’s movement by yelling “ice”, while the others reversed this by tagging the “frozen” and yelling “fire”.
From the playground, you could cross the main road in Jalan Lintas to get to Merdeka Supermarket. This place supplied us with our essentials, without having to drive out of our residential area.
But with our house situated so close to the main road, it became susceptible to break-ins.
We became victims of burglary one too many times.
In one of the episodes, the thief ransacked our home and stole many things, including my helper’s stash of RM1 coins, some of my parents’ collectibles and my purse.
Weeks later, my MyKad was found by the roadside in Kota Kinabalu and returned at a police station by a Good Samaritan.
The break-ins prompted my parents to install an alarm system at our new house which my parents built in Tanjung Aru.
While most of my formative years were spent in Taman Milek, I love being in Tanjung Aru.
It wasn’t long before the sunsets in Tanjung Aru became my daily dose of tranquillity and happiness.
It is my quick escapade from reality and just a song-ride away where I would find my favourite spot and dream away.
Although there were no marts across the road, we’re much closer to the airport. Once, when mum left her purse at home, Abang Shaun could bring it to her at the terminal within minutes.