Working Memory

I was born in my family home on 20 October 1942. Singapore was engaged in World War II then and my birth was hardly a joyous occasion. My parents were more concerned for survival than a new birth in the family. I was fortunate that my father was a merchant and had, through means of a black market, obtained cans of expired condensed milk which became my main source of diet in my early years.

My earliest memory of my tender years dated back to when I was a little over two years old, when my family went to a distant relative's estate home to escape the hardships of war. It was a decision my father made after my grandfather and uncle were taken away by the Japanese soldiers in a raid. I recollected some events at the estate home with little distinctness.

My father died in January 1945. To my regret, I could hardly remember anything about it except my mother's uncontrollable sobbing and Father, lying on the wooden bed in his singlet and black pants. In that same year, I was sent away by my mother to a village in Malacca. There, I went to school. The classroom was no more than a makeshift tent with a few splinter-filled tables and chairs. Learning, however, was enjoyable and it took my mind off my family back home in Singapore.

By the time I completed 'school', I already had a good knowledge of herbs and spices for I worked in a provision shop on weekends. The passion for learning the uses and nutrition in herbs and spices was very strong in me, and was clearly innate, as I could tell which was which by just taking a whiff of them.

One even that I remember clearly took place just after I had begun work formally at the provision shop. The afternoons there were relaxed as hardly anyone bothered to come out in the scorching sun just to buy an item or two. Even the stray dog which loitered around the shop took naps beside the ice boxes for some relief from the unbearable heat. One such afternoon, as I was packing some herbs into smaller bags, a man came into the shop. He took out a few paper packets and laid them out neatly on the counter.

"Tell me, what are the herbs in the packets," demanded the tall, bespectacled man.

At once, I reached out, in a bid to open the packets, but was promptly stopped by him.

"Tell me what they are. Smell them," came the response from the man who appeared to be getting impatient.