THINKING about a childhood home can be an intensely emotional experience.
The place where one grows up is often deeply entwined with formative memories, family bonds, and a profound sense of belonging. For many, the loss of – or even the thought of leaving – a childhood home can be deeply significant.
Swen Awan, a senior citizen now residing at the Bengoh Resettlement Scheme (BRS), located about 40 kilometres from Kuching City, shares why this emotional weight is so common.
He explained that leaving his childhood home, which he could no longer legally own, represented the loss of a powerful symbol.
“The home is a symbol of a particular stage of life, of deep family connections, and a place of comfort and familiarity.
“In our new home, we may still maintain those family connections and find comfort, but we are yet to become fully familiar with or adapted to the environment.
“Although life here is better in many ways, a childhood home is filled with memories – family gatherings, celebrations, and everyday moments that shaped us,” he told the Sarawak Tribune.
Swen admitted that, in the beginning, it was very difficult for him to let go of the village and home where he and his wife raised their children.
The 66-year-old, a sub-deacon at All Saints Church BRS, is among the villagers from Kampung Semban who were displaced to make way for the construction of the Bengoh Dam.
Since 2014, around 59 families from Kampung Semban have gradually resettled at BRS.
Although their new location is closer to Kuching and accessible by tar-sealed roads, Swen still holds his childhood village in high regard.
“That place literally housed not just me but my entire family’s formative years – our development, our bonds, our most cherished memories,” he said.
He recalled that two or three years after moving to BRS, he would often feel a deep sense of homesickness.
“This feeling comes especially when I think of a home I cannot return to – a home that perhaps no longer exists.
“In the past, I used to visit my old house and village to check on and clear the fruit trees, but as I’ve grown older, and due to health reasons, I can’t go anymore. Reaching the old house and farm still requires walking many miles,” he explained.
Though he seldom returns, Swen said the abandoned village still holds a special place in his heart.
“I miss many things about the countryside – the land where I used to farm, the old house where I welcomed tourists.
“Yes, sometimes I wake up dreaming about those sweet memories with our guests, and I wonder why they are now just memories, and then there are moments when I become emotional, thinking how this part of me is no longer what it used to be,” he said.
Despite this, Swen acknowledged that there are many benefits to life at the BRS.
He noted that the settlement’s proximity to Kuching, a hub for business and industry, brings with it job opportunities and potential for career advancement, especially for the younger generation.
“Our grandchildren now have the freedom to choose which schools, colleges and universities they wish to attend.
“Here in BRS, we also enjoy access to advanced medical facilities, specialised healthcare, and a wide range of amenities – from shopping and dining to entertainment and cultural attractions.
“There’s better infrastructure too: transport networks, communication systems, and public services, along with easier access to daily necessities,” he added.
Former Kampung Semban village chief, Bujus Kian, now 60, echoed Swen’s sentiments, admitting that he too missed his old village and house, especially in the early days of resettlement.
He recalled the natural beauty of the place where they had grown up together.
“We were surrounded by serene landscapes: lush green fields, flowing rivers, tall mountains. It was a world apart from the hustle and bustle of city life.
“That closeness to nature was what made village life so special, and I do miss it greatly,” he said.
Asked to compare rural life with life in the suburbs or city, Bujus, a lay reader, reflected on the pros and cons of both.
“In our rural village, we had more privacy, direct contact with nature and wildlife, and a sense of tranquillity that’s hard to find in urban settings. It was less stressful in many ways.
“But there were downsides too – long walks to school, difficulties shopping for basic supplies, limited job opportunities, no internet or television, and no proper roads or trade services.
“To reach Kampung Bengoh, the nearest village connected by road, we had to walk two to three hours through jungle trails and across bamboo suspension bridges. From Kampung Bengoh, we’d then continue to Kuching by vehicle,” he said.
Bujus shared memories of worrying about his children who boarded in town for their secondary education.
“Sometimes, when they were expected to arrive at Kampung Bengoh in the evening, we would have to wait there and accompany them home through the forest in the dark.
“It was also very hard to sell our agricultural produce or buy essentials from town. Everything had to be carried on our backs. Transporting goods was expensive; we had to pay others to carry them in and out of the village,” he explained.
Looking at his current life at the BRS, Bujus said he now recognises the many advantages of their new environment.
Although the BRS is suburban, it provides fast and easy access to city centres and a broad range of urban amenities.
“Of course, living in an urban area comes with its own challenges – high living costs and social inequalities, for instance.
“The costs of living here are high, with various bills to pay. For those with low incomes, this can cause significant financial strain,” he said.
Today, Swen and Bujus are neighbours in the BRS, their pasts tied to the same rural roots, and their futures now shared in the same new community.
