We Are Young But Once: Short Stories from My Grandmother’s Pillow Series

In a small kampung nestled at the foot of the mountains, life moved at a pace so slow that even time seemed to have trouble catching up. The kampung was a patchwork of bamboo huts, narrow dirt roads, and swaying coconut trees that whispered in the wind. The days were long and peaceful, filled with the hum of farming work, the chatter of elders, and the simple joys of community life. But for Ari, the youngest son of the village’s oldest family, this tranquil existence felt more like a cage than a home.

Ari did his duties as a dutiful son—helping his ayah with the farm, running errands for his bonda, and being present at all the kenduri and gotong-royong gatherings. He was obedient, respectful, and rarely complained. Yet, there was a quiet restlessness within him, a deep yearning for something more. He often admired his elder siblings, their calm acceptance of fate. But in his heart, he saw them as colourless—people who had settled into a life of routine, unconcerned with the grand adventures the world had to offer. His abang Zahir seemed content to spend his days tending to the family farm, never once speaking of a desire to leave the kampung. His sisters, beautiful and dutiful, only cared for the marriage arrangements that were already being made for them.

Ari, however, longed for something different. He wanted to see the world beyond the mountains, the bustling cities that lay in distant lands, full of noise, colour, and movement. He had heard the stories—the wild tales of faraway places where life was filled with endless possibility, a life so rich and full that it would take three lifetimes to experience. To Ari, these stories were like glimpses of another world, one where the mundane rhythms of kampung life didn’t dominate every waking hour.

But how could he break free? He was the adik bongsu, and in his family, the youngest was expected to follow the path laid out by those before him. Zahir, his older brother, never asked questions about life beyond the farm. To him, the kampung was all there was, and Ari’s yearning felt out of place, like a dream that couldn’t find ground to stand on.

Ari’s closest connection to the outside world came from Ah Boy, a boy who lived further down the kampung with his family. Ah Boy’s father worked in the city and often returned with stories about the bustling streets, dazzling lights, and crowded markets. Ari would listen eagerly, imagining the cities as a kind of paradise where his dreams could come true.

Yet even that link felt fragile. One evening under the mango tree, he overheard his sister Mira speaking to Ah Boy, her voice soft but firm.

“If we marry,” she said, “you’re not to leave the kampung again, not even for a day. This is where we belong.”

Ari’s heart sank. There went his only chance to break free. Ah Boy was set to marry his sister, and with that, his only connection to the world beyond would be lost.

That night, Ari stared out the window at the mountains that loomed like an impenetrable barrier. The rest of his family seemed content to accept the kampung as their world, their everything. But to Ari, it felt like a prison.

He dreamed of more—of cities that pulsed with life, where every corner was an opportunity, and every person had a story to tell. But for all his dreams, Ari felt trapped. His family, his duty, the expectations placed upon him—these were chains he couldn’t break.

Then one afternoon, as the sun dipped behind the hills, Ari made a decision. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t keep living this half-life. He didn’t have the money, the connections, or even the knowledge of how to start, but he knew one thing: he was going.

Before dawn, he slipped out of the house, leaving behind a note that simply read:

“I’m sorry, but I have to go. I will find my way.”

As he walked toward the edge of the kampung, he felt both fear and exhilaration. He was leaving behind everything he had ever known, stepping into a future he had only dreamed of. The road ahead was unknown—but it was his.

The city was waiting, and so was the life he had always dreamed of.

And even as the kampung faded into the distance, Ari knew—his story was only just beginning.

©️Lyia Meta

Glossary

Kampung (KAHM-poong) – Malay word for “village” or rural settlement.

Ayah (AH-yah)– Father.

Bonda (BON-dah)– Mother (a respectful, traditional term).

Abang (AH-bahng)– Older brother.

Adik bongsu (AH-dik BONG-soo) – Youngest sibling.

Kenduri (Kuhn-DOO-ree)– Communal feast, often held to celebrate weddings, religious events, or family milestones.

Gotong-royong (GOH-tong ROH-yong)– A traditional community effort where villagers come together to complete tasks collectively, such as cleaning or repairing shared spaces.

Image by WiX