Ghim Moh

It’s been so long since my last visit at Ghim Moh.

That familiar block, the block where I use to leap down the stairs to the econ mini mart with my sister to buy bread home, or to the provision shop to buy the childhood pan biscuits in different colors costing 10 cent per piece.

The smell of the rubber tyres overwhelmed me when I stood nearby that tyre shop just below my block and that Ma Lan cake shop which made freshly baked cakes, no longer stood there.

Every few hours passed by and you will hear the sound from the train running pass the railway track. I still remember how we use to play badminton or skipping at the spacious void deck we had. How we use to run down the stairs to pick up the shuttlecock which flew down from our 7th storey.

The blind man who used his walking stick to tab on every household’s window in order to figure his way, the shoutings from the newpaper boy, “Ma Piew Por, Sin Min Ming Por!”. The story of the spirit of white tiger which will appear when the clock strikes 12 midnight. And not forgetting, my punishments to stand outside the main door along the corridor until I finish my meals, before I am allow stepping into the house again.

Then during the mooncake festival, the neighbouring children, including us, would gather one by one, the elder ones leading the minors, walking up and down the corridors carrying our paper lanterns. Then during the CNY, we will be standing along the corridor, looking down at the lion dance performance, pestering our dad to carry us up so that we can have a better view.

And not forgetting to mention that familiar long kao (drain) where I fell into.

Hmm….those were the days I missed most. I still remember how we used to hide under the kitchen table, under the rice cooker, digging the wood fleck from my mum’s wardrobe or dressing table, using the mini fridge as a bank counter and role play with my sister (now she is really working in the bank), and throwing the sticky rubbery skeleton onto the living room wall. There are many memories worth talking about it.

Everything still seems intact except for some upgrading here and there. The familiar scene of the wet market, I can still remember. The hens, roosters, ducks were kept enclosed in the big yellow containers, stacked up neatly. Big shallow pails of water were use, the aunties, armored with their black plastic apron, were leisurely sitting down on small stools, busy plucking off the feathers from the poultry.

The unpleasant smell made me turn away and the screams rang in my head. It seems like a mass massacre in the market. Then was the little aquarium shop in the market where we will follow my dad to buy packets of tubifex worms for the goldfishes.

I was back at my childhood place again, having dinner with my family. But that familiar ambience which used to accompany me through my childhood days was not longer around. New coffee shops sprouted and we can no longer bring our eggs from home and ask the Char Kway Teow Seller to add for us...