One of the things about revisiting places that are part of you is that you have to be prepared to accept that things are not static. Some of the memories close to you remain just that, memories.
I didn't realise how emotional I could get when I went up to Durin to my Mum's ancestral home. Mum died in Australia, Her old relatives are all dead.
In the 60s, we were among the first kids to drive our car as the Rejang River ferry made her initial crossing that first day. Mum was very proud that there was a giant boat that carried cars in her neighbourhood. It took a long time, but we didn't care.
But to the rest of the people, the ferry just wasn't good enough. They called for a bridge. To these people, the bridge took a zillion years to build. Contractors from Overseas gave up the project, and people grumbled that surely a bridge spanning our little river is not that difficult to build. The water engineer kept his comment to himself.
The ferry is now gone, From the stretch where the ferry terminal was, up to my Grand ma's place, timber tycoons rent the river bank land from the Kong family. There are timber logs, rail tracks.
Goodbye to the river where I used to swim and paddle our dug out canoe. Goodbye to my childhood.
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1 comment:
Ann, «Louis» very much appreciates your faithful contributions to Sunday Bridges! You really come up with some interesting bridges for the meme, this being one example!
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