Early Morning Mist over the Rajang

This scene with heavy mist at the far end (towards Durin) reminds me of the days when I had to catch the early morning motor launch with my grandmother.

Grandma would set her alarm clock at 4 am and she would wake me up. In fact I would have quite a sleepless night listening to the tick tock of the clock. It must have started then, my sleep disorder. I was afraid to fall asleep because I was scared I would not wake up in time.

I might doze off for a short while and in no time I was up, helping her to get ready for the trip to Sibu. Aunty would be up, making the wood fire and she would make a cup of milo for me and a cup of tea for grandma. We might have some porridge or some bao and then off we would go to the pontoon to wait for the 6 oclock motor launch which could be the Hai Huong if it started early from Kong Thye Sawmill down at 24 acres.

Somehow grandma never felt the cold although she would have her woolen cardigan in her travelling rattan basket. For most children, an extra loose shirt like a pajama top was all we needed to keep us warm in the launch. I cannot remember if I ever felt cold in those days.

But I remember the early morning mist and the sun would slowly rise in the east. Our Nang Chong village was on the west bank. Sometimes travelling with us in the boat would be some chickens, a pig or two and a few ducks. Sometimes a sleepy cockerel would suddenly wake up and let out a morning crow. And but that would be drowned by the din of the motor launch diesel engine.

I can still remember the smell of the diesel to this day.

When my maternal grandmother grew a little older, my parents and my aunt Yung would make sure that one of the grand daughters or grandsons accompany her when she travelled by boat.

During the holidays one of us would accompany her down river and made sure that she was safe in the Nang Chong house. If it was during the holidays, for example, I would stay for a week or more and when the holidays ended, I would accompany her to Sibu and I would start the new term.

She would stay with my family for a week and if she wanted to stay another week with Aunty Yung's family she would delay her trip home to Nang Chong. She had to wait for Uncle Pang Sing to finish his road construction work to return home for the weekend.

Thus she would never travel alone.

But the early morning mist would always remind me of her long after she passed away in 1985.

It has been so many decades already and now I am of the same age as her, though I don't wear a bun, or black satin trousers with a Chinese top.