A handful of days at home in Ipoh

I often write about my love for Hong Kong and how it is another home to me, yet Ipoh rarely receives the same treatment. Last week, I spent a few days back in Malaysia with my Dad’s side of the family and I had such a magical time that it’s hard to put into words. Growing up British-born Chinese came with its own collective of emotions and experiences, and one of them is experiencing multiple countries as home but never properly being able to reconcile your thoughts and feelings between them all. In my 35 years, I’ve never properly felt that Malaysia is home until now.

Perhaps it’s the beauty of getting older and wiser, perhaps it’s just the East Asian diaspora rite of passage, but something clicked when I reunited with my beloved family this time. I felt the time-honoured pull of aching nostalgia for the hours I spent running around with my cousins each summer, especially when cuddling their babies and toddlers. I felt a longing for more time with them all, especially after hours of laughing until our eyes streamed. I felt the way us cousins have all grown up now, all 21 of us scattered across countries and paths, yet we all manage to retain the same distinct sense of humour. I felt endless gratitude to all six of my aunties and uncles for how they always show up for me, for us, and how they’ve shaped us Chai family.

We landed in Kuala Lumpur on a humid Monday evening, and immediately hopped into a Grab to take us to my Fennie gugu’s (Auntie Fennie) new house. It was so lovely to see her and laugh and catch up about new homes, our upcoming wedding, my cousins, and her travels. And, the next day, we went for breakfast with my cousin before catching a train up to Ipoh, where the majority of my family live.