The House that Waited for Us
In March 2023, I arrived in Kuching to finally meet my best friend in person after six years. We had first crossed paths as teenagers in high school—two awkward girls who inexplicably clicked at once. When she transferred to another school halfway through, we stayed connected through voice messages and birthday greetings. But nothing compared to seeing each other face to face, now as young adults.
I was staying in Tabuan Jaya, in a white-brick house with neat rows of plants in a gated yard. From the outside, it was a typical suburban home, but inside it was entirely different. The moment I stepped in, it seemed to wrap itself around me. Earthy scents, soft rattan benches, and the gentle hum of the ceiling fan created a welcome so immediate it took me by surprise. Tulle curtains diffused the sunlight, casting warm golden shadows around the room. Framed pua kumbu motifs adorned the walls—small details that made the space feel more than just temporary lodging. It felt lived in. Cared for.
“This house feels like it hugs you,” I texted my friend that night.
She picked me up the next morning, her smile exactly as I remembered from school. “You haven’t changed,” she told me, and something in me exhaled in relief. We visited the Borneo Cultures Museum, our jaws dropping at the sight of Iban ceremonial clothing, Orang Ulu musical instruments, and intricate beadwork. Later, we ate at a wooden pavement food stall, savouring Sarawak laksa so richly topped with sambal and omelette shreds that I knew its taste would be etched in my memory forever.
What made the homestay unforgettable was not merely its warmth—it was the way it quietly bore witness to a friendship being rekindled. At night, we sat on the rattan bench by the window, talking as we once had: about our futures, our fears, and the things that never seemed to fit into texts. The host would pass by with a knowing smile and say, “Real friendships are like Sarawak’s jungles—deep, old, and full of tales.”
On our final day, we decided we needed a memento to seal the trip in memory. After hours of wandering through souvenir shops on India Street, we finally settled on plushies. I chose a lilac bunny; she picked a pink animal with round ears.
“Did you get a pig?” I teased.
“It’s a cat!” she retorted, clutching it in mock outrage.
That night, we placed our plushies side by side on the rattan bench in the homestay living room—a quiet echo of our childhood selves. The ceiling fan hummed overhead, and I felt it deep in my chest: that bittersweet ache of knowing something precious had returned.
When I left for Miri the next day, I wasn’t simply leaving a house. I was leaving with laughter, warmth, and a friendship lovingly stitched back together—in a Sarawakian home that felt as though it had been waiting for us all along. —DayakDaily
Nur Hidayah Muhammad Nur Arshad Chupuong Abdullah from Miri is the Top 10 Winner (Adult Category) in the ‘Homestay Odyssey’ writing competition organised by DayakDaily and supported by the Sarawak Ministry of Tourism, Creative Industry and Performing Arts.
