The Wilful Sunflower

Not many know - or imagine - that I am very much a small town, kampung (village) girl.

When I was eight, my family moved to Dad's hometown, a small town called Ayer Tawar (literally, "tasteless water"; more aptly translated "plain water"). It is so small that it contains a single main road, which goes right through the town. You can literally drive in and out of town in 10 to 15 minutes, and you'd have seen almost everything there is to see!

Seven years later, we moved to a slightly larger town 20 minutes' drive away from Ayer Tawar. This town has two main roads - I did say it was only slightly larger! The cross-junction where the two roads intersect marks the heart of town.

When we moved there, the town boasted one fast-food restaurant (Kentucky Fried Chicken) and two supermarkets (Fajar & Parkson Ria, but Parkson - unsurprisingly - had to close down after a few years. Their prices are too inflated for thrifty rural folk.)

And there we have stayed ever since, except that I left for college and now work in the Big Evil City; my brother also left last year for university, so my parents remain there, alone.

Let me tell you, all the stories about small towns are true: everybody knows everybody else's business. I like to say that one only needs to sneeze, and the whole town will know it! Also, everybody you meet is usually somehow related to someone you know, in one way or another.

The two towns are pretty closely connected, and, as I've said, Dad had grown up in the latter place. He was now back to open up a private practice in the larger of the two towns: a classic small-town-boy-made-good success story.

I could hear people whispering about "the doctor's daughter" wherever I went. It was something I strongly resented - yes, I was proud of my dad and his achievements, but I didn't want to live in his shadow! I wanted to be known as myself, not as an extension of him!

In school, too, I found myself known and watched (or maybe it was just paranoia). Most of my teachers knew of my dad, even if they didn't know him personally. Some were his patients; others had actually taught him during his own schooldays! And, as Dad had been a brilliant student (ASEAN scholar), expectations ran high; I hated that too.

It being a small town, there was, literally, nowhere to run. Many of my teachers - those who were Christians - attended the same church we did. Mom would also constantly bump into my teachers in the market on Saturday mornings, as she bought groceries. She'd come back and tell me, "I met Mrs Wong, your English teacher, at the market today. She said you..." Oops!

Both towns had a high population of Chinese, whose ancestors had originally come from the same town in China. So the local dialect (Hockchiew/Foochow) reigned as the preferred language.

Dad is from this dialect group but Mom is not; we spoke English at home, an anomaly in a town as small as Ayer Tawar. For some reason I never learnt the dialect from my friends, speaking Malay (the national language, and medium of instruction in schools) to everyone, even my fellow Chinese classmates. It was weird, and it made me feel like the odd one out. However, looking back, I see that I didn't do a thing to assimilate. Rather, like the bookworm I am, I retreated into my storybooks, and didn't really socialise much.

Later, when we moved to the other town and I was transferred to the largest school there, I found other friends who spoke English; friends who also attended the same church we did. Their parents knew my parents. We went to Youth Group together, called each other, passed notes to each other in church...

It was a very sheltered existence. I mostly tried to be the quintessential "good girl" who did everything that was expected of her - hard not to when news of your activities would always find a way of reaching your parents' ears! People treated me well for Dad's sake: some of my teachers were extra attentive to me and seemed to like me a little better than they did the other students, but I've always had good instincts about people and I knew why.

Small-town life is convenient (we used to cycle everywhere), but claustraphobic. I much prefer the city, even if I have to pay the price of traffic jams :)