心思意念 Visual Narrative Memory of Home
心思 heartfelt thoughts 意念 thoughtful intention
心意 gift
思念 yearning
心思意念 Visual Narrative Memory of Home An autobiography on the contemplation of home from talking pictures, thinking words and sound of silence. 心思意念 forms from the phrase 心思 (heartfelt thoughts) and 意念 (thoughtful intention). By deriving new expression from the word play of the title, birth the new words 思念 (yearning) and 心意 (gift). With an autobiographic and poetic narration, these hearfelt disclosures are the artist’s gift for the reader, to exchange for a moment in discovery their own voices through the stories exhibited. Other than a monologue of the artist’s homesickness and contemplation of a home, this work also brings the reader’s attention towards the global phenomenon of migration.
© 2013, text and images by Goh Shan Lei
想家好像很丢脸。 Is homesick a sickness?
致心中有思念的人。 To those whose heart yearn.
心思 意念
Visual Narrative Memory of Home by Goh Shan Lei
SEVEN, first time at school. My ma peeked at me from the back of classroom. 远远|观看 静静|等待 watching, waiting. I turn back, ma is there. She smiled at me, and I smiled at her. I turn back again, ma is still there. She raised her pinky with a frown. (I’ve promised that I’ll be strong.) I turn back yet again, ma is gone. “我想家” 妈妈说要勇敢一点。 就一点点。 I miss home.
Leaving home, coming home. 离家，回家。 That’s the first. And it will never be the last time. 世界好大，我好小。
A note to self: TWENTY-FOUR, remember your ma’s words: “Be strong and courageous.”
nihaoma A simple phrase to say but always forgotten how to say. “Hello ma” 你好，妈 “How are you?” 你好吗？
Smiling with her eyes
Sometimes I called back to ask the simplest questions: “Do you need fridge to store ginger?” “How do you know if the chicken is cooked?” Ma always said “Use your common sense lar! Like that also don’t know ah?” And after much laughing at my stupidity, “Are you coming back this week? Do I need to cook for you?” She asked.
一种用行动表达的爱， 安静的爱 在洗米声里。 A love that is expressed in actions, a quiet love — in the sound of rinsing rice.
自己煮饭才知道 吃饭容易做饭难。 离家。领悟。盘中餐，粒粒皆辛苦。
I’ve learnt, if mum cooks a meal for you, think twice before you say you’re not coming back home. It’s just like standing at the door of your loved ones wanting to give a gift you’ve carefully wrapped. But all you heard is a voice saying “I’m not inside, too busy”.
It hurts.
Yet, still hopeful.
The other day, I sat. Still, listen. Listen to Ma’s endless random stories about family, about friends, about people, about life, about us. Underlying such conversation, it’s our yearnings. for one another.
Relationship— is a ship. Presence. Presence. Presence. Present for home. Do you? or rather will you? Being present, in a journey. Back home, make room, for talking hands and silent feet. It takes two, a pair.
I gazed at Ma and a voice in my heart asked me: “look closely.” My eyes travelled from her hair to forehead. I was surprised her grey hairs start to cluster in the front. My eyes continue to travel— to her eyes, to her nose, and finally to her lip. Ma is someone who can smile and look sad at the same time. When we were young, we used to laugh at her “train tracks”. And little did I know that it was called fine lines, also known as wrinkles. I recalled we used to play with her danggling golden earings too. It still puzzles me. Why would Ma look sad when she smiles? And since when she stopped wearing earings? I didn’t notice.
多久没有正眼看看自己的爸爸妈妈？ When is the last time we look at our parents with those pair of intense eyes?
Little did I know, I wasn’t Ma’s best company. These are. Dreamt of words to say in reality. In reality words still remain in dreams. Mutual. Unspoken. But time has written all over us. I fear slowly losing her face over time. 想家不是因为距离，想家是因为时间。 我长大了，你们老了。 “树欲静而风不止，子欲养而亲不在”。
I remember there was once when I boarded the train and sitting across me was this pair of old couple. I started tearing. They reminded me of Papa and Mama. Tear, torn. Strangely, sometimes I feel that home is just across the border. Just like how these old couple— it is so near yet so far. So good yet so strange. So beautiful yet so painful.
And that day I turned twenty three.
And again the other time at train station, I was reminded. About Ma. About being a child with Ma.
I used to complain that Ma frown too much. I think that frowning makes somebody look sad and less beautiful. Till these days, I understand that perhaps I was part of the reason. “Are you thinking about me?�
心连心｜爸爸常说要将心比心。 Connecting hearts 将爸爸的心与孩子的心连接。 因为爱。 All for love The understanding of a father’s heart.
面对面｜妈妈常说家是大家的。 Connecting hands 将妈妈的手与孩子的手连接。
因为爱。 All for love The work of a mother’s hand.
“JIAK” “Jiak” is a teochew word, means eat. “Jiak” is more than eating. “Jiak” is more than a daily routine. Saying grace while having food on the table reminded me of the Thankful Poor— it is a reminder that sitting together for a meal with family is everyday grace. 吃饭很简单， 要一起吃饭有时不简单。 简单的东西不能忘。 简单最好。
家的饭，粒粒皆故事。
When asked about what’s for dinner, Ma will always say “有煮什么就吃什么啦！” (which means: you eat anything I cook!)
We used to dream that our Ma will one day make us burger and fries or even steak and salad. In dreaming, I forgot the existence of the present. Only until when it was lost, I realise what I’ve missed are with me all these while. Home cooked meal. Simple, raw and unpretentious Isn’t it how family should be too?
One late night I was hungry, Ma cooked me high class Maggi with five Tiger prawns. My brother saw and drove out. He came back with Satay, smiled and said “Malaysia’s satay, Singapore don’t have.” Spoken words are few but they are clearly warm. 烤肉串。 串串心。（患） 患难见真情。
Bungkus Take away 打包 The idea of bungkus is so much more than just a take away. Nasi bungkus (packed rice) is a parcel. Depart and arrive, arrive and depart again is part and parcel.
I remember, the first time eating that nasi bungkus, my eyes spoke to my cheek— “this is part of the parcel”. Bungkus dengan hati A pack with love. Packed with love.
Sometimes, packed food can also mean loneliness and quietness. I try not to think that way. I always dispose them together with the carrier and carry on. But sometimes, I fail.
A morning at home, I smiled at Ma’s usual morning sunny side up. “I’m home. I’m home again.” Welled up in tears of memories, I told myself, I need to immerse in the experience of relooking home. Through my childlike eyes and my adult mind. To learn again the things we thought we already knew. And how do we see what we see. Life’s simple happiness, starts from remembering simple things. 《念》就是《今》+《心》 离家才知道， 简单的东西要念念不忘。 “你今天的心有没有想念？”
Togather Before we forget. Before he/she is forgotten.
Aftermath—Chinese New Year Reunion.
When round table is more than just furniture. When chopstick meets fork— it is foreign but a banquet for fellowship.
Blood related strangers.
Photos of him, photos of him and his siblings, photos of.. just things that are not “photo worthy”. I don’t quite understand. Why Pa always asked me to take photos during Chinese New Year. Once, he asked me to take a picture of him with my brother. I thought, “Pa, can you please stop asking me to take photo of things that doesn’t interest me?” I wanted to catch the fast disappearing fireworks. Photos of fireworks are more worthy. I was rude, I disregarded him. I was selfish.
At that moment of reluntance and frustration, I saw his smile. A whisper in my heart— “He wants to remember.” And I want to remember— Pa smiled at me and my camera. “I took a photo of a happy man.” That smile overshadowed the fireworks and me— “the self ”. My ego vanished with the fireworks. What is worthy? 家，就是学习舍己的地方。
Are photographs a repository of memory and recollection or a hint of loss and reminder of how forgetful we are?
The last time I met my Ah-Ma, she said I’m a grown up girl. She calls me her chili padi and said that someday I’ll be like my Ma. She got it all right except that she just couldn’t remember how old am I. She thinks that I am already twenty six. The last Chinese New Year when I visited her again, she was in her plain clothes and sleeping in her bed. There’s no ang pau, no celebration. Her Chinese New Year has already passed two weeks in advance. She celebrated with herself. We just couldn’t catch up with her anymore, with her in her time. Sometimes I wonder, how is it like in my Ah-Ma’s world? How does memory work? When things fade and slowly disappear, will Ah-Ma remember what she wants to remember? And when we try so hard to remember other things in life, are we forgetful too about that someone special? Before I forget. One day she will forget.
Her yearning of lost memories. My yearning for home. Is this the common language we speak beyond words, space and time? Will Ah-Ma miss Ah-Gong? Have you ever miss someone before? 你知道想念的味道吗？
I took the last full portrait of Pa and his siblings. Never again will Pa ask me again. Never again did anyone mentioned about “The Last Portrait Together”. “Snapshot is a decisive moment.” To love, I’ve learnt is a decisive decision. 来不及 Two words: too late. It takes a faded face to remind me that being together is not to be taken for granted. I still remember clearly of the scenes where my cousin is holding her family photo beside the casket and hearing her saying “Papa, you were smiling and we were a happy family.”
Tears. I took those photos. The feeling of being the last person to capture a blood related stranger’s last photo on earth— heart wrenching, throat thickening. Everyone thanked me. Leaving with them photos of memories.
大家。 大家 means everyone. It also has the meaning of a big home. A big home where there is always space for everyone
Vibrant space.
There was once a child told me, “Teacher, my house is ugly, please do not come and visit me because I am poor.” It took me several steps back in my mind to answer her. What I do not understand— What she meant by ugly? Does living in poverty, in need and lacking means ugly? How poor is poor? And who is poorer? Not having a big house or not having a space for home? Not having an aircond or not having a window to feel the breeze? Not having a smart phone or not having someone to talk to? The heart beats the word home. Leaving home making me realise, my home is one of a kind. Here at home, I have nothing yet I have everything I need. 虽然好像什么都没;有，可是很美。 因为是我家。 Rumahku, syurgaku.
家有一种味道。 Do you still remember playing catching and you laugh at your on fall? Do you still remember that feeling of buying something on your own as a child? Do you still remember that sunset is for goodbye with friends and hope for another day? I still remember my first world is just the home itself. Bedrooms, kitchens, living room. These spaces are big, in my memory. I’ve seen curtains flying in the skies. I’ve float myself with king sized beds in sea and also having rest rolling over flowered ground. Table and chairs are little obstacle to get through the other world. And wardrobe is a cosy place. As we grow older, our world gets bigger. At the same time they get smaller too, to some of us.
Places, spaces. Monument of memories. In child’s play, in grocery shops, in the smell of freshly baked puffs, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Nostalgia.
家。 真的不怎么样。 Behind every door, what is their story? Are they lacking? Are they needy? Are the children going to school? Are the parents earning enough? Looking from a distance, I have a picture. A mental one. Where, there is beauty in brokenness, unity in diversity. Where, there will be a day for return. A hope for the country. Sometimes I ask, why didn’t you left me with enough reasons to win over me to not leave at the first place? Yet, most of the time I question, do you actually yearn for my return?
我觉得， 屋子好像心。 故事内容在于谁居住。 Home is where the heart lies.
新家坡。 A new home in Singapore. One border. A bridge. Separates two places. Every monday is a new day for a heavy feet.
Bus ride, looking through the window.
When I first came to Singapore, I am so amazed by the HDB. “How can so many people stay together?” Although sometimes I think that space like that is too rigid, too grid looking, too.. small, I can’t help but to imagine my own version of the Singapore home stories. Isn’t it amazing to stay under one roof?
I stayed in the HDB for a few years and I have the most amazing landlord who is a nice old couple who tends a hawker stall. Foreigness. I no longer draw the line between myself and the others. Assmilation. When I no longer feel like a stranger. I still remember the day when I moved out and bid them goodbye, I actually had a mixed feeling. Recalled. HDB memories. My another home. Rewind. In becoming a stranger again. The city and me.
Space Pace There was once I wanted a moment of solitude. I didn’t know anywhere that is quiet, this city is too new to me. I stood at a overhead bridge and watch the motion. In my head, I ask why am I here? A world of people, a world of strangers. “Are you at home in this world?”
《过》 寸步走。 Be strong and courageous. 将脚步放慢，一切看得更清楚。 Make space for slow pace. Slow down. 迷路也算是走路。
记得有一天想走走，不知道去哪里。 拿了雨伞，相机。 最后回到安静窝。 A day I chose to slow down and have a good look at this city. Through the migrant’s lens, through a foreign eye. The space and I, I start seeing the beauty of the walk itself.
It’s Friday “All I want is to cross over and get there.”
回家的路很漫长。 The return of so many wandering minds. still, TGIF.
170 Kranji, home soon.
Queue. Back home. Till these days, I still fear of Friday. Yet in anticipation for the return. No one really knows how long it takes to go home. 茫茫人海中， 自家人， 差肩而过。
Superman bus, for the schooling children. Crossing the border is a game for them. The Amazing race. To the adults, the journey is a routine. Nothing, just mundane.
“Do not rush! You will be back home soon.” “不要急。可以回家的。” These bus conductor uncles are real superman.
Race for the human race. 家。大家。回家。 Human being, being together. Strangers. Sharing space, chasing time. Coming home.
It’s Friday again, waiting for another Monday. The flying shoe. The resting place. 我回来了。 I am back. 谢谢你，让我学会脚踏实地。 再辛苦，也要加油。 因为世界还是很大， 我仍然很小。 简单的布鞋，简单想家的心， 记得妈妈的叮咛： “Be strong and courageous” The journey of a sojourner.
Departure or arrival again? Rooted or rootless?
For those whose home are just so near yet so far.
想家真的不丢脸。 Homesick, homesweet.
GOH SHAN LEI is a multidisciplinary artist. With her interest in photography, editorial design and mixed media installation, her works are often poetic and speak of a metaphorical language. She believes in having that personal touch in each of her project, highlighting emotional quality in her design.
talking PICTURES thinking WORDS sound of silence. contemplation of home. my yearnings are my gift for You.