My childhood Eden

I spent the better part of my childhood in Damansara Heights - 16 years. In spite of the prestige attached to the area, our house was dilapidated corner terrace, whose utilities would fail from time to time. I remember the frequent thunderstorms, followed by inevitable blackouts.

There was an empty field beside our relatively large, but mostly barren garden. When we got a broomerang from our uncle who lives in Sydney, I got plenty of scratches from climbing over the rusted fencing retrieving it.

The woven wire was often covered with various creepers. There was the one with inedible green and red berries and dark leaves; another one with fruit that looked like mini pumpkins, with tangy pulp and seeds inside, which I rarely managed to get my hands on, thanks to the sparrows. On rare occasions, we would find a chameleon camouflaged within the vines and leave.

We had two coconut trees in our backyard. Whatever the squirrels missed, we scraped and drank, icy cold from our ancient fridge. My brother and I once tried tying a piece of cloth between both trunks. Our makeshift hammock experiment failed - we never managed to stay five minutes on it without tumbling out.

We also had two fir trees lined up by the driveway. These in comparison to our short, squat coconut trees, were taller than the house itself. Their foliage were always soft and pliable, before maturing into hard, spiky needles which would embed themselves in our palms and fingers, were we not careful during a game of tag. During flights of fancy and festivity, we'd decorate them with tinsel, baubles and handmade ornaments. These, we usually failed to remove and they'd pretty much stay there or get washed away by the rain.

We had a half-pipe, uncovered drain that ran parallel to the parameters of the house. As an antisocial, nerdy kid, I'd spend hours and hours squatting at the edge, my myopic eyes intently squinting for interesting bugs. The drain was like a bag of goodies - I always found something new. There were your average garden variety slugs and snails - which I would either torment or ignore depending on my mood; there were strange squishy organisms, with no visible features, apart from their long tails, through which they breathed (it was the only part not underwater). I still haven't a clue what they are. There were all sorts of beetles, shy millipedes, scary centipedes and even once, a relatively large monitor lizard.

Whenever it rain, the earthworms would appear. Some would get stranded on the cement, which would be my cue for their rescue. I have no idea why, but I have a soft spot for these slimy, harmlessly fragile creatures. (When I was 18, I once stopped in the middle of a road to pick one off the road before it could get squashed by the traffic. My friends refused to walk near me until I'd washed my hands.) Our terrain was pretty uneven, with bald patches and slopes. I loved sneaking out into the rain, splashing about puddles, but always ever so mindful of a misstep that might kill an earthworm.

Our backyard led to a slope fringed by a small patch of rubber trees. When ripened, the brown shelled seeds would burst out of their hard, wooden pods. It was always a pleasure to hunt for them, all scattered across the grass. A troop of monkeys lived there and would occasionally make an appearance. They'd try to get in, walk all over the garden, attack my neighbour's outdoor kitchen, hiss at us through the door grill. But most annoyingly of all, they'd perch on top of the fence, their smug, condescending expressions taunting my dog, Momo and I. We'd yell/ bark ourselves hoarse, but these creatures were happily immune to our threats. We usually ended up calling the local animal control, but the monkeys always came back.

My love affair with the garden (and the monkeys' reign) came to an end when construction began on the empty field. Some VIP had purchased it and decided to build a house. The foreign labour involved were crude and perverse. I was pretty much unable to leave my house without loud leers and wolf whistles all the time, even if just to fetch the mail or paper. Needless to say, I stopped squatting about at the drains and collecting spiders and grasshopper specimens. I think this experience, which dragged on for about five years (the terrain had a steep slope and they needed to build an elaborate foundation) cultivated my prejudice towards immigrants, which ironic considering how I will soon be one myself.

But of course, I won't leer at the Australians. Or wolf whistle. The appropriate way to express my appreciation would be, "Crikey mate! That's a beaut!"

I still can't believe Steve Irwin's dead.