NOSTALGIA – SWEET AND SOUR MEMORIES

desiderata.english




A surprise gift that arrived recently from a good friend, comprising a compilation of well-loved folk songs, recalls for this writer many fond memories of his schooldays, “when we were young and gay”. This teacher had been a scout in secondary school, and it was pretty much fun going camping, cooking and feeding on self-cooked rice, overly salty vegetables, and of course, the constantly reliable sardine fish spiced with half cooked onions – all so yummy and delicious,. Come to think of it, all food would taste that way when you’re hungry as a wolf. The most memorable of all to us would be the inevitable climax of a campfire. As evening fell, all the troop members would pick up logs and tree branches and dried roots and dead and worm-infested trunks to build a fire.

If any schoolboy had not attended any camp that featured a campfire, to my mind, he would have missed one of the great joys of adventure and camaraderie as a youth. Camaraderie is that “spirit” of working together for a common goal -- planning with your “patrol” (usually consisting of five to seven members) – mine was named Beaver -- to organise ourselves for competition – whether it’s putting up sketches, group singing, or games in the style that later came to be popularised on television as “tele-matches”.

Scouts and girl guides would have learnt some basic skills of cooking,and first aid, which is of practical use; setting up a tent by the sea-front or in the woods., and learning how to share jopbs and care for each other for mutual benefit. And of course, learning some memorable cowboy/cowgal songs. Those who had gone on train rides in the steam engine era would tell you that the noise and smoke that went along as the train chugged to its thurderous start from a railway station were incredible sights and sounds., and there is one song the lyrics of which most boys would have memorised is the nostalgia associated with a weary traveller by train who fell into an “unfortunate” state. I prefer the version made famous by the Kingston Trio, although other groups like Peter, Paul and Mary and The Hooters, also made the charts with it:

Five Hundred Miles

If you miss the train I'm on,

You will know that I am gone,

You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles.

A hundred miles, a hundred miles,

A hundred miles, A hundred miles,

You can hear the whistle blow A hundred miles.

Lord, I'm one, Lord, I'm two, Lord,

I'm three, Lord, I'm four, Lord,

I'm five hundred miles a way from home.

Away from home, away from home,

away from home, away from home,

Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home

Not a shirt on my back,

Not a penny to my name.

Lord, I can't go back home this-a way.

This-a way, this-a way,

This-a way, this-a way,

Lord, I can't go back home this-a way.

If you miss the train I'm on,

You will know that I am gone,

You can hear the whistle blow A hundred miles.

A hundred miles, A hundred miles,

A hundred miles, A hundred miles,

You can hear the whistle blow A hundred miles.

"500 Miles," is credited to Hedy West, Bobby Bare, and Charlie Williams. (From Stambler and Landon, "Encyclopedia of Folk, Country and Western Music." New York: St. Martin's Press, 1969.)

But in one’s life, we are not all blessed with only happy memories. Life is never a bed of roses. We will at one time or another encounter a difficult period – boy/girl friend problems, school performance, peer group pressure, rivalry, lossing a job or a loved one – all these give rise to heartache, and sometimes, heartbreak, in a young person’s life. So we all would have our share of less-than-savoury times.

But nowadays many children are being pushed to grow up too fast, too soon. I quote one extreme exam[ple. A Fellow writer ran a story of a Mum spending big bucks for preparing their daughter to stand ahead of her peers in a Beauty Contest, all at the ripe old age of SIX YEARS! The “rat race” sees parents sending their children to the tuition centres for subjects more than what the child needs ... some of the children don't even have time to do their school work, and the parents think the tutors can be a substitute.

At six years old, they should be enjoying Cinderella, Tom Thumb and other fairy tales; it does no harm for them to listen to the 1,001 Arabian Nights than couched with their parents in front of the idiot box... It won't kill their future reading them bedside stories from Enid Bylton instead of making those trips to Disney Land before time.

RM200 spent on a child every month can buy him/her five good fiction works that will enrich his/her mind rather than inundate them with information overload. To me, if a child is just weak in one subject like Mathematics, okay, it justifies an expense of RM50-70 on tuition. But torturing him with a comprehensive coverage at several hundred dollars a month, there's something wrong somewhere. A pupil “weak” only in Mathematics would benefit from tuition just focused on Mathematics – it’s futile having him attend other subjects when the time should be spent at home doing school-assigned homework. Also, the child should be allowed outdoor time to play football or netball with the neighbourhood kids. I am truly concerned to see many of my friends’ children spending long hours playinmg “computer” games instead of enjoying reading time at the library. No wonder it’s a rare joy for Desiderata today to read a well-written essay or composition with original ideas by a students – compared with the reality where many candidates for public examinations are being encouraged by their teachers to “memorise” spotted essay topics! Scoring straight As is of utmost importance, when the emphasis is to foster a critical and thinking mind.

I hope our young ones will be well guided to enjoy their childhood and youth so that they can recall happy memories when they join the adult world of work, career and starting a family. May they then harbour some nostalgia of the “good, old days” and write some engaging stories to share with their children and public.



Let’s read an account recalling old times from FRANCES YEE, who seems somewhat caught in "another place, another time", finding it hard to completely "let go". I’m sure readers will find empathy with some of the experiences she relates, through the tender years of growing up, building friendships, waning relationships, breaking up…Frances likens her experience to a journey and the people she meets as passengers, and we learnt through her sharing the type of passengers one would cherish.

PASSENGER IN DEPTH

In Frances’ words, the journey is long. All I can hear is the reverberating sounds of wheels and tracks. It hums a little slower over hills and mountains and it echoes much faster across valleys drained by rivers and its tributaries. Bearing all sorts of weather: Creaking under scorching sun and other times, rusting in the heavy rain. Sometimes it comes to a halt for another train in passing. Sometimes it stops at stations for passengers.

Seated quietly in a corner of comfort, I know I can trudge along this long journey with a bit of patience. It could get slightly lonely. It could make me fidget with restlessness. Yet, it provided that much needed time for a little bit of reflection to meditate on life's crossroads.

Once in a while, a passenger will share the seat next to me. Some sat through without so much of fluttering their lashes. Others initiated small chats to kill boredom. Some brought new knowledge. Most came with sense of humour. A few struck me as very interesting ones. A couple more couldn't so much as catch my slightest attention. One or two rare ones brought new meaning. But all of them were from different walks of life with one purpose. To reach a certain destination.

That, my friend, is the journey of life.

It's a journey so long that it might take a while before you could reach anywhere. And along the way, you meet passengers. Passengers come and go. They leave footprints and impressions. They leave pain and sorrow. They give faith and hope. Best of all, some leave joy and love. Some of them make life more colourful and meaningful. Some won't make a difference at all. Most would though. Some can't wait to go ahead. Some would willingly walk beside you. Others prefer to lag behind.

Should you pick a passenger to travel with you? Or would you prefer to travel alone? Would you want a companion out of a passenger? Or would you prefer to brace life's challenges in solitaire? Whatever your decisions are, expect to make some right choices and some wrong ones or many wrong ones before you make some right ones.

Life will never ever be perfect

but an ounce of patience

will make a difference

Expect that as fast as it will come soaring

know that it will also come falling

Slow and steady, keep the pace

So to avoid the messy maze

Stay a while longer if it brings the meaning of love and happiness to a whole new level. Otherwise, do whatever's necessary to tell yourself that you have at least tried. But know when to move on when it's time to do so because lingering around when it doesn't exist anymore will only cause much inflicted heartache.

At this present moment, I'm staying here a while longer. Give me some time before reminding me that it's time to move on...(ends Frances’ sharing).

As a reader not privileged to share Frances’ full confidence, I hazard a guess that she wishes “to linger” a while longer because she’s caught in nostalgia’s emotional roller-coaster of sweet and bitter tastes. It’s a state where the person longs to retain the happy and joyous moments as long as possible. I have experienced such a state often enough – it’s so difficult to “let go”. But let go we must for various reasons, differing with each person depending on the circumstances and the interacting “players”. Frances realises it as she concludes “…that it’s time to move on…” She only asked to be given “some time”. Yes, we all need our private time to reflect on times gone by, on people or events dearly missed. Different people, different strokes. Different reactions, different times.


PS: Frances blogs at a *gardnern called Bloom, Flowers, Bloom at http://primroses.blogspot.com and during one of Desi's midnight sojourns there, he stole the Passenger bloom uing a fishing rod he borrowed from Tom Sawyer, without MTwain's permit. This is to strictly follow Primrose's command to "KEEP OFF THE GRASS".I saw no sign of "FIERCE DOGS", but it was in the nightime, and my I-sight was less than 20-20; so Ignorance is Bliss.:)

I often picked up Exquisite 'ritin's from Fellow Bloggers' homes to use along with my writ(H)in' at The Borneo Post, which features this article as itis MINUS THE PS, this sunny sundae. Just as an aside Xplanation, in Frances' case, this butterin' up came about as she feted this hungry wolfe with limitless supply of ButterCakes in Xchange for Haridas' tehtarik! Go visit her at da buttery kitchen, she is an Xtremely GOoD hoRst! No wonder hGf call her PrinCess:)