In a secluded village somewhere in Malaysia, there is a little wooden house near the sea I visit every June and December.
The house is a fifteen minutes drive away from the nearest grocery store. Sometimes there are frogs lurking around in unexpected corners. There is no Internet connection.
However, my grandmother and grandfather are safely sheltered in this house. I painted the yellow walls together with my cousins during one of our school vacations. There is a large round table in the kitchen but it can only sit half the family when everyone’s back home, so we take turns eating meals. The sea is a few minutes walk away from the house. Sometimes when we are playing in the water, we would see our grandpa cycling back home with a basket of fish. Sitting in front of the television, my grandma would tell us the plot of the latest melodrama she is watching. Swaying palm trees produce incredibly calming sounds. An insect orchestra plays to us every night. Nothing blocks the full view of
