THE LOST PATH FOUND

“As a young Malay girl who grew up in a Peranakan house, I always felt a sense of confusion within the intercultural ties surrounding me. My grandfather had bought the house from a Peranakan family decades before I was born, retaining the house exactly as it was, keeping all the furniture it came with. To me, the house felt more like a museum than a home—filled with artefacts from a bygone era. Dark rich namwood cupboards with golden accents filled the living room, and floral vases in every corner. The loud whirring of the rustic ceiling fan reminded me of the historical elements that surrounded me, each one echoing a heavy past that I struggled to understand.
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I often wondered why my grandfather couldn’t let go of the past. He held onto a culture that didn’t belong to us and yet knew all the stories that came with the house, which he shared with me. In contrast, I always dreamt of the modern and sleek house that I saw across the street.

As years passed by and I moved into adulthood, I got married and had the opportunity to set up a home of my dreams. I embraced the chance to curate each space to be contemporary with modern furnishings—a home shaped by my own choices.
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Yet, something always felt hollow and empty. Though this was the vision for my ideal home, it felt unfamiliar.”

“Lost and detached, I found myself crawling back to a place that felt known, my grandfather’s house. As I entered through the heavy wooden doors, I saw my grandfather standing there, welcoming me with open arms—this felt like home. I took some time to myself; as I lingered in the narrow hallways, I began to recognise the connection I had felt to this culture, even though it was never mine. In this moment, I realised that grandfather’s choices weren’t a stubborn refusal to adapt to time but a way of keeping culture alive.
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Now standing here surrounded by my past, I couldn’t help but see pieces of me reflected in everything—the scent of antique wood, the glazed floral tiles in the hallways that I passed by, and the handcrafted chairs I sat on. I realised, his passion wasn’t merely to own the house and what was left in it—it was for sharing it with me, helping me understand that his world was also mine.

I once thought the past was distant and irrelevant to me, something old and forgotten. But now I realise our roots are alive and ingrained in who we are now. My grandfather’s collections serve as a reminder to preserve, appreciate, and share—just like pieces of our identity. Through his passion and curiosity for cultural stories, he showed me how to embrace myself and preserve my own roots.”