FollowLife in Ipoh moves slowly for me — softly, almost quietly. Most days are spent with my parents and my soul cat, in a rhythm that feels calm but often solitary. I don’t have many friends here anymore. Most of my close friends from high school have long scattered to other parts of Malaysia and the world, building lives far away from the streets we once knew so well.
Last week, life surprised me.
My high school best friend, Jo, returned unexpectedly from San Francisco. Her father had passed away. Her parents’ house is less than 600 meters from mine. We used to go to school together almost every day. Hearing the news shocked me, though I found some comfort in knowing that he passed away peacefully.
Jo’s father was a lawyer, but to me, he was simply a kind and patient adult who treated me like his own. He used to pick me up at 4.30am for our morning hikes up Kledang Hill in Menglembu — something I still can’t believe we did so willingly at that age. He would also bring me to the Ipoh Swimming Club, where we would swim, play squash, did sauna, eat, and laugh. We would also ogle at Michelle Yeoh’s hunky brother when we went to the gym at ISC. Oh yeah, the year-end party at ISC was the one party that all the teenagers in Ipoh really looked forward to attending back in the mid 1980s. Jo and I were always at that party.
Jo’s dad was one of those rare adults whose kindness leaves a lasting imprint on a teenager’s heart. I attended his wake at their home last week, stepping into a space filled with memories I didn’t realize were still so alive within me.
Today, I visited Jo again. We went for a long walk around the neighbourhood — one and a half hours of non-stop chatting, laughing, and reminiscing. During our school days, we used to cycle and walk these same streets endlessly, talking about everything and nothing. So much has happened in our lives since then that even 90 minutes felt painfully insufficient to catch up on decades of living.
After our walk, I spent some time chatting with her mum. And suddenly, time did something strange.
It felt as though it hadn’t moved at all since the mid-1980s. Jo’s mum looked the same — untouched by time, warm and familiar. Sitting in her house felt exactly like it used to. The same feeling. The same comfort.
If I could turn back the clock — something I find myself wishing for more often than I care to admit — I would turn it back to 1986, when I was in Form 1. I would relive those years again. I would undo some mistakes, listen more closely to my younger self, and gently guide her onto the path that was always meant for her.
But since time only moves forward, I hold onto moments like today — when memories resurface, friendships reconnect, and the past briefly reaches out to remind me of who I once was… and who I still am, deep down.
My dinner with my parents at Xin Yun Taugeh again today. We ordered half a poached bearded chicken, two bowls of noodles, a plate of bean sprouts and some meat and fish balls. My parents and I are very small eaters; we couldn’t finish the chicken and had the unfinished chicken packed away.
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