Growing Up in Ipoh

Every time I think about my childhood, my mind takes me back to Ipoh — the town where everything felt a little slower, a little kinder, and a lot more familiar. Growing up in Ipoh wasn’t glamorous or dramatic, but it was wonderfully simple, and that simplicity shaped who I am today.

The Neighbourhood Days

Back then, life revolved around the neighbourhood. All the children played outside until the sky turned orange and our mothers started shouting from the gate that it was dinner time. We didn’t have iPads, mobile phones, Netflix, or air-conditioned shopping malls to hide in. Our playground was the longkang outside the house, where we caught tadpoles, the field down the road, and the road right outside our houses, where we played badminton, marbles, hopscotch, and flew kites. My favourite evening activity was cycling around my neighbourhood, plucking flowers along the way and at the riverbank, where I would stand at a distance from the river just to listen to the sounds of the river water.  My second favourite activity was climbing my grandmother’s guava tree, helping her to pluck ripe guavas, and simply lying down on the branches of the strong guava tree, pretending that it was a tree house.

Nobody cared about sunblock and hand sanitiser. Nobody cared about being “proper.” Childhood was just… childhood. I don’t even remember washing my hands after playing and went straight to the dining table to have dinner.

The Food That Raised Me

Ipoh is famous for its food, and trust me, it deserves the reputation. Even as a child, the flavours of home were everything:

• The kaya and peanut butter toast tasted better because both the kaya and peanut butter were hand-made by my grandmother.

• The kopi shuet (iced kopi) tasted so ‘kaw’ and aromatic, and it only cost less than a Ringgit.

• The chee cheong fun with red sweet sauce that still tastes the same today.

• The curry mee, Hor Hee (fish ball noodles) and Kai Si Hor Fun (shredded chicken flat noodles) were always comfort food.

As children, we didn’t know about “heritage food” or “Ipoh cuisine.” We just knew everything tasted good — and cheap. Now, thinking back, those simple meals were a big part of our childhood happiness.

There was always someone in the kitchen, someone watching TV, someone shouting from the living room for no reason. The house was noisy but warm — the kind of warmth that stays with you for life.

The Simplicity That We Didn’t Appreciate

When we were young, we didn’t realise how lucky we were:

• No traffic jams – I cycled to the tuition centre about 3km away from my house on my racer bike.

• No stress about safety – I often went camping on islands with my besties and a group of boys from another school.  And there was no hanky panky with those boys.

• No pressure to “keep up” with anything – there was no social media pressure.

Our days were filled with routine, but it was a good routine — school in the morning, naps in the afternoon, playtime outside the house in the evening, TVB dramas at night, and weekends spent at the swimming pool.

Now, as an adult, I miss that simplicity more than I ever expected.

Ipoh’s Magic

Ipoh may not be a big city, but it has a charm that’s hard to explain. It’s in the limestone hills that surround the town. It’s in the old shophouses with faded paint. It’s in the smell of white coffee drifting out from the kopitiam.

No matter where life takes me, part of my heart will always remain there — in those quiet streets, those old memories, and those moments that whispered, “This is home.”

Looking back, I realise — it was the foundation of everything good in my life. Who knows, I will be back to my roots again to live there for the remaining years of my life.

Me at Concubine Lane, Ipoh, in March 2023.