Kampung Sireh, Kota Bharu, Kelantan

I was born here. It was very different then. Perhaps because I wasn't indifferent then.

The Sultan's palace across the main road was not only a humble yet palatial awe, it was also a playground for me - I was buddies with one of the Sultan's nephews (I still wonder why it wasn't his niece instead).

There was this Indian stall where the best 'nasi dagang' and kopi-o was to be had. Every morning. And late evening.

There was this sawmill a few hundred steps from the junction - I used to run here and kick sawdust into the faces of my friends.

Then there was the 'guava' tree fronting the gates of my house. I liked perching myself up there and whistling down on those walking by below. I also helped save lives from that 'high' position - I could see oncoming motor vehicles approaching each other from the blind bend and signaled for them to go slowly.

Then I got indifferent.

Everything became so normal. So familiar. So day-to-day.

Even the sight of the foreign backpackers who would stay at this traditional house turned into a lodge just across the little lane in front of the house.

Nothing was a novelty anymore.

Nothing.

Until I brought her back to my house on her first Hari Raya trip to my hometown - to be surrounded and bombarded with cheeky questions by my numerous relatives, all in good fun, and good faith, that she was the one.

That was a novel memory. It still is. And I know it will always be. And because of her, I grew to miss 'home' again.