Visited a grand uncle today. He lives alone on Malay reserve land in Kuang, Selangor, in a small one room abode. I didn't even know his name before today.
He apologized for the mess. "This place is a store room, for my children." Seems almost impossible that such a small space can fit so many things. A broken down TV in the corner. Boxes stacked against the walls. A small sofa is the only thing to sit on in the living room. Empty prescription bottles can be found everywhere. Pirated DVDs seem to be his chief distraction; there are dozens of them strewn on the floor and in small boxes. A ceiling fan that doesn't seem to have moved in a long time. But it's all very bright, the sun pours in a large window facing East. Despite it all, it isn't a dreary, unhappy place.
He regales with gossip and stories, things about the family that no one else has heard in years. I'm soon lost, but i listen anyways. It is pleasing, his enthusiasm firm and energy vibrant.
Soon it is time to leave, too soon. His name is Redzuan, my grand uncle.
