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April, the 25th. It is the end of the Northeast Monsoon, fondly known as the wet season. Soon, the relatively drier monsoon will set to take charge. But not, until the middle (or end?) of May. For the next couple of week or so, we would experience what a climatologist terms as the monsoon transition.
This transition is usually characterised by unpredictable chaotic weather. A mix of extreme hot and rainy days. Alternately. Due to the drastic changes in a matter of 1-2 days, this could normally be the worst time. For most people.
It is the odd season of the year, where people would easily get caught 'under the weather'. Literally, and proverbially. So far, the weather hasn't got me. Yet. :)
ii
May, the 1st. A dear friend visited me, and stayed overnight. At 3.00ish am the next morning, heavy rainfall started pouring down. The sound of it hitting hard the roof woke me up. And, I didn't manage to get back to sleep until dawn. When the ferocious rain was starting to slow down.
I don't normally open my bedroom's windows. Early in the morning, during the weekends. Because it is air-conditioned, and I want to keep it cool. Throughout the day.
At 8.00ish am, my friend rushed into my bedroom. Switched off the air-cond. Opened all the windows, and excitedly asked (in a barking tone!): "What do you smell?"
-- "Bau payau?" (My house is located in a reclaimed swamp area)
-- "Bau ikan masin?" (There are several small-scale family-owned industries nearby, producing fish-related products)
He looked at my blank clueless face. In a rather a-matter-of-fact manner, and non-dramatic tone, he said:
"No. It is the smell of childhood."
Only then, a déjà vu hit me.
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Seriously, I really like this place, where I am staying now. More than anything, I treasure it for bringing back my childhood memories.
Remember when you were little kampong boy/girl? Living in a small village, where every house was surrounded with green (fruit) trees. And, the backyard was all covered by wild grass. Sometimes, they grew tall enough for you to hide from your angry mother.
During the weekend, your dad would (probably) cut some of the overgrown grass. And, if it happened to be raining right after, then you could smell it. The exotic combination of freshly-cut grass and warm tropical rain.
Yes, the so distinctive, but indescribable sweetness.
That is the beauty of living in the countryside. May be it's far away from the urbanized, colourful and more happening city. But here, in this quiet place, you would find so many little things, which are spiritually inspiring.
The smell of wet cut grass, for example. That reminds you of your long lost innocence. Perhaps?
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One wise friend told me: "A home is not necessarily where your house is. A home is where your heart is."
But personally, I expect my home to accommodate both: my heart and my house. No compromise. I don't take anything less.
I'm very grateful for having this humble rumah kampung as my home. It not only (physically) houses my house. I'm very lucky; it is also the home of my heart. Believe me, not many people are blessed with such privilege. I know some friends, whose house and heart – don't co-exist in one place, which is called home.
Happiness in life: is about finding a place where you really want to be. Not about trying to fit into other people's expectation.
Dear friends and readers; I mean it literally. As well as metaphorically. Carpe diem!
Post-script: You must read this!
