So My Primary School Teacher Was My Mom's Ubin Neighbour
Hi All!
This post is a follow up to the previous chronologically-accurate posts in the "My Ubin Journey" series, "Printing, Paperwork, Pulau Ubin Outing", which was published nearly a month ago! My apologies for the lack in catching up on the real timeline as I have been engaged in what seemed to be a pretty eventful August and I couldn't really bear not to write those highlights down in Wan's Ubin Journal for all of you to read it as fresh as it was!
In this post, I talk about my subsequent trip down to the island the following week; this time with my mom and how I came across a mind-blowing discovery and also the email that kick started my heritage hunt.
Immediately as I got home from an entire half day on Pulau Ubin with my colleagues, I shared with my mom my experience back on the island. She was excited to hear how her birthplace was like and was happy to know that things have pretty much remained as rustic as she could remember. And then it struck me; she had not been on the island much longer than I had. I subtly asked my mom if she was keen to head back down to Pulau Ubin the following weekend, and without hesitation she agreed.
The week went on pretty normal at work, the usual mundane stuffs like printing, typing emails and the boring office work, but at least I was feeling much more refreshed after that getaway to Pulau Ubin the weekend before. Finally the time has come for the weekends to come and once more I had to prepare myself to make my way down to the island again, except this time it's with my mom.
The skies were bright and sunny that morning as my mom and I took the bus down to Changi Village. We decided to head down to the hawker centre in the hopes of getting ourselves a light snack for breakfast but of course, not many stalls were opened considering that it was just past 8 a.m. by the time we were venturing around the place. Luckily enough, my mom had cooked some goreng pisang or banana fritters and we planned to eat it later on the island. We bought a huge bottle of mineral water and some tidbits at the store right next of the bus terminal just in case our stomachs decided to growl excessively ahead of schedule before heading down to the Changi Point Ferry Terminal to board the bumboats.
For the previous trip, I was the one gleaming with excitement, but this time round it was really evident on my mom's face. I mean how could she not, given that she was going back home to where all of her childhood to young adulthood memories were made and where she was under the love and shelter of her parents for so many years leading to their passing. As soon as the bumboat docked at the jetty, my mom wasted no time in getting herself up onto the steps and onto Ubin soil.
We would pretty much go the same route as for every of our Ubin trips back in the old days. We rented our bikes from the same store my colleagues and I went to the previous weekend and cycled our way down to Pak Ahmad's house. At this point in time, I was still not that close with Pak Ahmad and Nenek Piah, because I was still pretty much only known at the time as just one of my mother's children who came to accompany her to the island and had never opened my mouth or struck a conversation with them. Nonetheless when we reached Pak Ahmad's house, we were greeted with an interesting sight.
The whole area was flooded with children in their school PE attire. There were still vans alighting students off at the roadside by Pak Ahmad's house by the time we cycled closer to catch a closer look. Amongst the crowd of primary school kids, were their teachers who were conducting a head count or a briefing but one of them looked suspiciously familiar. As I dismounted from my bike and pushed closer to the man, I could confirm that the man was a very familiar face. He turned out to be my Mother Tongue teacher back in primary school, Mr Fadzly!
We were equally surprised to come across one another, especially so on Pulau Ubin out of all places. It slipped off my mind that he had already been teaching in a different primary school for a few years and that the kids who were flooding Pak Ahmad's house at that time was from his new primary school. My mom smiled and pushed her bike closer to us and joined into our conversation. I asked him what was happening and he mentioned that the students were out to Pulau Ubin for a Cultural Learning trip where they would be engaged in activities promoting and educating them on the Malay culture. My mom and I found that to be a pretty neat initiative by the school's Mother Tongue department for their kids and I thought that it would be an awesome experience for them there. Mr Fadzly then asked us what we were doing on Pulau Ubin, to which my mom replied that she was just coming back to see the island she grew up in. Mr Fadzly's eyes widened when he heard that and said that he too was an Ubin resident when he was growing up. My mind was blown when I heard that!
My mom asked where he lived and he described a location down in the old Kampong Surau where she could somewhat figure out who used to live there. My mom then asked if his father's name was Enal down by the river to which Mr Fadzly exclaimed that he was in fact his father. My mind continued to be blown. It turned out that my Mother Tongue teacher back in primary school was a neighbour of my mom's when they were growing up on Pulau Ubin. It was such a small world! Till this day even as I write this post, I continue to be amused by this mind-blowing discovery. Mr Fadzly then joked around saying that I myself had the Ubin blood in me, too.
We had to cut our conversation short as Mr Fadzly had to bring his pupils down to another station on the island. Apart from Pak Ahmad's house, which was used as a batik painting station, the pupils would venture to other places such as Cik Kamariah's house to perform the dikir barat and Tanjong Chek Jawa to learn more about marine life and the need to preserve it. We bade farewell and my mom and I also decided that we would drop by Pak Ahmad's house some time later where there would probably be lesser kids around.
My mom and I cycled down to Tanjong Chek Jawa but of course, we would drop by Kelichap Hut along the way. I stopped when we near the area and I asked my mom to direct me again to where the path leading to her parents' house once stood. She honestly could not remember where it was as the rotten jackfruit tree, along with the remnants of her sister's house had long disappeared from the site. Nonetheless she gave a brief estimation as to where the path began, by the side of a huge tree to the left and pokok puding or croton plants to the right. She didn't put much thought into it but did heave a sigh, signifying her disappointment as to how all the houses that she had remembered standing strong all around her had all disappeared.
When we were at Chek Jawa, sure enough we saw one group of pupils from Mr Fadzly's school walking down the coastal walk. They were taking as many photos as possible and some of them got very excited to see mudskippers and jungle fowls roaming around the area at low tide. Their teacher also chipped into the sights and read from the display boards that talked about the marine creatures that called Chek Jawa and Ubin home. When we reached the only shelter in the coastal walk, my mom and I decided to wind down and have breakfast there. We indulged in my mom's goreng pisang and it was really a nostalgic setting because every time we were in the wetlands, we would always sit there in the midst of the cooling sea breeze and enjoy some home cooked food.
After spending nearly an hour in Tanjong Chek Jawa, we headed back down to Pak Ahmad's house via the Sungei Mamam and Balai Quarry route; that same treacherous hilly area my colleagues and I panted at the week before. As we reached Pak Ahmad's house, there were still pupils there but it was not as crowded as earlier on. My mom gave her salam and greetings to Pak Ahmad who was seen chopping up some coconuts for the passersby and I too salam him, without saying anything. He told my mom that Nenek Piah was sitting inside in the serambi and invited us both into the house to talk with her.
Nenek Piah was just sitting down alone, donning a simple brown shirt and an anak tudung to cover her hair. She was fanning herself with an old rattan handheld fan as smoke from the mosquito coil fogged around her legs to repel the annoying mosquitoes away. When my mom greeted her, Nenek Piah took quite a long time squinting her eyes at her before she could recall who my mom was. They both missed each other very much and spent a lot of time catching up over years of seeing one another. Probably fifteen minutes into their conversation, I got myself up and started roaming around the house. I was always fascinated with kampong houses and their architecture. The fact that the entire house that we were in were built and assembled by Pak Ahmad himself really amazed me. The house had been standing strong for more than five decades all thanks to Pak Ahmad's diligence and discipline in maintaining the state of their kampong house.
There were many fascinating objects around the house including antique frames, collectables, photographs and even P Ramlee movie posters. It was like we were back in the 1960s, except we were in 2018 and everything was still as pristine as it decently was. As we were about to say our goodbyes to Pak Ahmad and Nenek Piah after more than 45 minutes catching up, Mr Fadzly and his group had returned back to Pak Ahmad's stall where all the kids were to have their lunch. I also bade farewell to my teacher as my mom and I cycled back to Pekan Ubin to return our bicycles and head back down to the mainland.
It was a bittersweet experience for my mom as we departed from Pulau Ubin. I could only imagine the sadness she felt at the time, perhaps reminiscing on the last day she lived there with her parents before they passed away. It was clear that there were so many memories on the island for her and that having to say goodbye to the island was a difficult thing for her to do. She affirmed to me that she missed her home very much and that she bemoaned the loss of her grandparent's kampong house.
We treated ourselves to a simple Chinese rojak lunch down at one of the many restaurants along Changi Village before calling it a day. As we went back home, I recalled dozing off several times, having a courteous passenger wake me up when we reached Tampines Bus Interchange. I could only hope that I was not drooling throughout the journey and that nobody had to witness it.
That very night, I decided to write an email to NParks requesting their assistance in finding my grandparents' house. To date, I would consider that email as the most significant email I have ever written in my life, following the events that followed in the months to come.
Read the previous chapter in "My Ubin Journey"!
"Printing, Paperwork, Pulau Ubin Outing"
This post is a follow up to the previous chronologically-accurate posts in the "My Ubin Journey" series, "Printing, Paperwork, Pulau Ubin Outing", which was published nearly a month ago! My apologies for the lack in catching up on the real timeline as I have been engaged in what seemed to be a pretty eventful August and I couldn't really bear not to write those highlights down in Wan's Ubin Journal for all of you to read it as fresh as it was!
In this post, I talk about my subsequent trip down to the island the following week; this time with my mom and how I came across a mind-blowing discovery and also the email that kick started my heritage hunt.
Immediately as I got home from an entire half day on Pulau Ubin with my colleagues, I shared with my mom my experience back on the island. She was excited to hear how her birthplace was like and was happy to know that things have pretty much remained as rustic as she could remember. And then it struck me; she had not been on the island much longer than I had. I subtly asked my mom if she was keen to head back down to Pulau Ubin the following weekend, and without hesitation she agreed.
The week went on pretty normal at work, the usual mundane stuffs like printing, typing emails and the boring office work, but at least I was feeling much more refreshed after that getaway to Pulau Ubin the weekend before. Finally the time has come for the weekends to come and once more I had to prepare myself to make my way down to the island again, except this time it's with my mom.
The skies were bright and sunny that morning as my mom and I took the bus down to Changi Village. We decided to head down to the hawker centre in the hopes of getting ourselves a light snack for breakfast but of course, not many stalls were opened considering that it was just past 8 a.m. by the time we were venturing around the place. Luckily enough, my mom had cooked some goreng pisang or banana fritters and we planned to eat it later on the island. We bought a huge bottle of mineral water and some tidbits at the store right next of the bus terminal just in case our stomachs decided to growl excessively ahead of schedule before heading down to the Changi Point Ferry Terminal to board the bumboats.
For the previous trip, I was the one gleaming with excitement, but this time round it was really evident on my mom's face. I mean how could she not, given that she was going back home to where all of her childhood to young adulthood memories were made and where she was under the love and shelter of her parents for so many years leading to their passing. As soon as the bumboat docked at the jetty, my mom wasted no time in getting herself up onto the steps and onto Ubin soil.
We would pretty much go the same route as for every of our Ubin trips back in the old days. We rented our bikes from the same store my colleagues and I went to the previous weekend and cycled our way down to Pak Ahmad's house. At this point in time, I was still not that close with Pak Ahmad and Nenek Piah, because I was still pretty much only known at the time as just one of my mother's children who came to accompany her to the island and had never opened my mouth or struck a conversation with them. Nonetheless when we reached Pak Ahmad's house, we were greeted with an interesting sight.
The whole area was flooded with children in their school PE attire. There were still vans alighting students off at the roadside by Pak Ahmad's house by the time we cycled closer to catch a closer look. Amongst the crowd of primary school kids, were their teachers who were conducting a head count or a briefing but one of them looked suspiciously familiar. As I dismounted from my bike and pushed closer to the man, I could confirm that the man was a very familiar face. He turned out to be my Mother Tongue teacher back in primary school, Mr Fadzly!
It really is such a small world to meet Mr Fadzly on Ubin
We were equally surprised to come across one another, especially so on Pulau Ubin out of all places. It slipped off my mind that he had already been teaching in a different primary school for a few years and that the kids who were flooding Pak Ahmad's house at that time was from his new primary school. My mom smiled and pushed her bike closer to us and joined into our conversation. I asked him what was happening and he mentioned that the students were out to Pulau Ubin for a Cultural Learning trip where they would be engaged in activities promoting and educating them on the Malay culture. My mom and I found that to be a pretty neat initiative by the school's Mother Tongue department for their kids and I thought that it would be an awesome experience for them there. Mr Fadzly then asked us what we were doing on Pulau Ubin, to which my mom replied that she was just coming back to see the island she grew up in. Mr Fadzly's eyes widened when he heard that and said that he too was an Ubin resident when he was growing up. My mind was blown when I heard that!
My mom asked where he lived and he described a location down in the old Kampong Surau where she could somewhat figure out who used to live there. My mom then asked if his father's name was Enal down by the river to which Mr Fadzly exclaimed that he was in fact his father. My mind continued to be blown. It turned out that my Mother Tongue teacher back in primary school was a neighbour of my mom's when they were growing up on Pulau Ubin. It was such a small world! Till this day even as I write this post, I continue to be amused by this mind-blowing discovery. Mr Fadzly then joked around saying that I myself had the Ubin blood in me, too.
We had to cut our conversation short as Mr Fadzly had to bring his pupils down to another station on the island. Apart from Pak Ahmad's house, which was used as a batik painting station, the pupils would venture to other places such as Cik Kamariah's house to perform the dikir barat and Tanjong Chek Jawa to learn more about marine life and the need to preserve it. We bade farewell and my mom and I also decided that we would drop by Pak Ahmad's house some time later where there would probably be lesser kids around.
My mom and I cycled down to Tanjong Chek Jawa but of course, we would drop by Kelichap Hut along the way. I stopped when we near the area and I asked my mom to direct me again to where the path leading to her parents' house once stood. She honestly could not remember where it was as the rotten jackfruit tree, along with the remnants of her sister's house had long disappeared from the site. Nonetheless she gave a brief estimation as to where the path began, by the side of a huge tree to the left and pokok puding or croton plants to the right. She didn't put much thought into it but did heave a sigh, signifying her disappointment as to how all the houses that she had remembered standing strong all around her had all disappeared.
When we were at Chek Jawa, sure enough we saw one group of pupils from Mr Fadzly's school walking down the coastal walk. They were taking as many photos as possible and some of them got very excited to see mudskippers and jungle fowls roaming around the area at low tide. Their teacher also chipped into the sights and read from the display boards that talked about the marine creatures that called Chek Jawa and Ubin home. When we reached the only shelter in the coastal walk, my mom and I decided to wind down and have breakfast there. We indulged in my mom's goreng pisang and it was really a nostalgic setting because every time we were in the wetlands, we would always sit there in the midst of the cooling sea breeze and enjoy some home cooked food.
After spending nearly an hour in Tanjong Chek Jawa, we headed back down to Pak Ahmad's house via the Sungei Mamam and Balai Quarry route; that same treacherous hilly area my colleagues and I panted at the week before. As we reached Pak Ahmad's house, there were still pupils there but it was not as crowded as earlier on. My mom gave her salam and greetings to Pak Ahmad who was seen chopping up some coconuts for the passersby and I too salam him, without saying anything. He told my mom that Nenek Piah was sitting inside in the serambi and invited us both into the house to talk with her.
Nenek Piah was just sitting down alone, donning a simple brown shirt and an anak tudung to cover her hair. She was fanning herself with an old rattan handheld fan as smoke from the mosquito coil fogged around her legs to repel the annoying mosquitoes away. When my mom greeted her, Nenek Piah took quite a long time squinting her eyes at her before she could recall who my mom was. They both missed each other very much and spent a lot of time catching up over years of seeing one another. Probably fifteen minutes into their conversation, I got myself up and started roaming around the house. I was always fascinated with kampong houses and their architecture. The fact that the entire house that we were in were built and assembled by Pak Ahmad himself really amazed me. The house had been standing strong for more than five decades all thanks to Pak Ahmad's diligence and discipline in maintaining the state of their kampong house.
Wefie with Nenek Piah down at her serambi
It was a bittersweet experience for my mom as we departed from Pulau Ubin. I could only imagine the sadness she felt at the time, perhaps reminiscing on the last day she lived there with her parents before they passed away. It was clear that there were so many memories on the island for her and that having to say goodbye to the island was a difficult thing for her to do. She affirmed to me that she missed her home very much and that she bemoaned the loss of her grandparent's kampong house.
We treated ourselves to a simple Chinese rojak lunch down at one of the many restaurants along Changi Village before calling it a day. As we went back home, I recalled dozing off several times, having a courteous passenger wake me up when we reached Tampines Bus Interchange. I could only hope that I was not drooling throughout the journey and that nobody had to witness it.
That very night, I decided to write an email to NParks requesting their assistance in finding my grandparents' house. To date, I would consider that email as the most significant email I have ever written in my life, following the events that followed in the months to come.
Read the previous chapter in "My Ubin Journey"!
"Printing, Paperwork, Pulau Ubin Outing"
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