Where Memories Lie Within the Bamboo Walls
It was supposed to be a city trip, somewhere with malls, cinemas, and cold air-conditioning. In my head, I had just landed, wheeled my bag through the terminal, snapped an Instagram story, and hit the mall like I owned it.
But plans changed, and somehow, I found myself at Sumuk’s homestay instead. Sumuk, my grandmother, runs a quiet homestay in a kampung where the air still smells like woodsmoke and rain. And me? I hadn’t felt connected to this place in years, not since life in Kuching slowly pulled me away.
Disappointment doesn’t even begin to cover it. Now, I was stuck in a place with no air-conditioning, patchy internet, and zero malls in sight. It felt like being dropped into a past I was sure I didn’t miss.
Arriving at Sino Connie’s Homestay, I reluctantly dragged my bright yellow luggage up the stairs. I pulled out my phone, half-hopeful the internet had improved since I last visited four years ago. It hadn’t—zero bars, not even a flicker. I sighed as if the walls cared.
I had barely laid down when Sumuk called me from the kitchen. “Come help me with the midin,” she said, not even offering a welcome. I groaned, but got up anyway. She handed me a rattan basket full of freshly picked ferns, still glistening with dew.
“Use your fingers,” she said. “Snap the top; it breaks easily.” I tried, but the stalk wouldn’t break clean. She watched for a while, then chuckled. “Your hands are too soft.”
I rolled my eyes, but she was right. Her fingers moved like it was second nature. I tried to follow, clumsy at first, but gradually, my fingers learned what to keep and what to toss.
Soon, there was no talking, just the sound of stems snapping and leaves rustling in the distance. I had expected boredom out of this activity, but what I felt instead was the quietest kind of peace—the kind I didn’t know I had missed.
Over the week, we picked vegetables from the back garden, gathered firewood, ate supper over soft laughter and smoky air. For once, I didn’t miss my phone.
On my last night, we ate the midin that we had picked together—simple, warm, and the best I had ever had. I couldn’t believe I was sad to leave. The realisation crept in like a lump in my throat, which I didn’t notice until I tried to speak. Maybe it wasn’t just the food, it was the moment. Something about this homestay made it feel like more than just a place to sleep. I realised this was the kind of memory I would cherish forever.
I’m already looking forward to my next visit—to wake up to firewood crackling, to pick midin with Sumuk, to feel that peace I didn’t know I needed. There’s something about this homestay I didn’t understand before, but now I do. It’s where memories lie within the bamboo walls. —DayakDaily
Christian Richardson Donald from Kuching is the Consolation Winner (Youth Category) in the ‘Homestay Odyssey’ writing competition organised by DayakDaily and supported by the Sarawak Ministry of Tourism, Creative Industry and Performing Arts.
