William Chong

It’s monsoon season in Kuching. During this time of year, the daily weather pattern follows a script that starts with balmy, clear morning skies, followed by an afternoon of lachrymose rainfall that renews the earth. You can tell whenever it’s about to rain soon when the air begins to smell of palpable moisture, and the clouds seem to be collapsing under their own, water-laden weight.

Kuching is a river city which is capital of the Malaysian state of Sarawak. Etymologically, the name Kuching is postulated to have been a corruption of ‘kucing’, the Malay word for cat. To be honest, Kuching is as cat-crazy as Wolfsburg is about wolves (i.e. not really), and other than the tourist-aimed incidentals and a few city-centre statues, this city is just another city on the equator of the world.

Kuching is its own dichotomy, a city in two diametrically contrasting worlds. While driving around today, I found a strange juxtaposition between the humble hawker stalls of say, Sekama Rd and the massive Sylvia Park-like shopping malls that have seemingly taken root all over town. On the same street junction used to cater for valet-serviced 5-star hotels, you’ll also find double and triple parked thoroughfares with cruise-control pedestrians milling about. Next to a lone hamburger stand lit by kerosene lamps, you’ll find a 3-storey wet market; near wood-framed stalls with bananas, durian and starfruit dangling on strings, you’ll find stores with aggressive salesfolk, pushing the latest mobile phones and computer accessories to passersby.

Yes, this is where I was born.