Past life in Malaya and Indonesia

It’s bright. I’m outdoors. I see a row of traditional shophouses. It’s general hustle and bustle. I’m walking along the street. I’m wearing cloth shoes. I’m wearing a simple cheongsam type blouse, made of cotton. My skin colour is yellowish tan. My hair is black.

I’m on my own. I’m going to buy something. I walk into a provision shop. I look around and get some foodstuff for the house.

I feel like I’m in Malaya, in the 1920’s. I see people walking and rickshaws. No vehicles on the road.

I finished buying the things. I have just left the shop and making my way on the street again.

I’m going home. My house has got a white gate. It’s a bungalow house. I open it. I go in. It’s white and has got big windows. It has no porch. There’s a driveway. The main door is at the driveway. I go in. I’ve got these cloth bound chairs, wooden tables…quite a westernized setting. There are black and white tiles on the floor. I head to the kitchen to pass to the people the things I bought.

I’m twenty plus. I feel as if I’m like the head of the household. I’m a housewife.

On the wall, there’s a picture of a Chinese man dressed in a white suit with a neatly slicked black hair. He seems like the head of the house.

I run the household. I make sure that everything is put in place and correct and things are neat and tidy. It’s my main role to organize the staff. There are about 5 staff. They work in the kitchen and they clean the room. I feel like there’s also a driver. They’re Chinese.

My bedroom is big. There is a four poster bed and a couch in the room. I see a flowery pattern for the cover on the bed. I open up the cupboard, and my clothes are in it. There’s another cupboard I opened and the man’s clothes are in it as well. The bedroom is relatively bright. If I go to the bedroom and look out, there’s a view of the garden and the trees outside. The things are neatly placed.

There’s a writing desk in the room and a pair of glasses on the table. There’s book there. Looks like a diary. It’s a book with a black cover. The handwriting’s neat and cursive, in English.

When I look out of the window, I don’t feel so heavy. But just looking at the bedroom, I feel a bit heavy. Not that happy. It seems like when I was coming into the house, the front entrance and the lounge area was brighter and happier.

My husband is not always there.  He’s away a lot.

Next scene:
I see my husband but I’m not happy. We’ve been fighting - very angry and there’s a general feeling of unhappiness. I’m somewhere in the house, but it’s in a different room. He looks like a very serious guy, quite stern as well. His features resemble my uncle’s (current life). He tall. He’s generally a very serious man. He’s working in a rubber plantation. It’s like he’s away so much I don’t feel connected to him. He’s more attached to his work. But the only way that I keep on going is making sure that the house is ok.

Next scene:
I have a little girl. She’s really cute. She’s just playing. She’s about 2 years old. Just walking and running around in a sweet little dress. I’ve gone into a garden. I’m sitting there and playing with her. She’s got her hair in the middle tied up. She’s smiling and 2 teeth are starting to show. She makes me smile. She reminds me of me. Just a pretty happy kid. Not the cutest kid, but she’s a happy kid.

I’m in a garden on a stone bench. I’m in the front of the house.

There’s a lot of waiting in that life. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for him to come back. It’s interesting that we don’t really invite people over to the house.

Daily routine:
I get up and I make sure that I’m dressed really properly and my hair is all in place. Before the little one came along, I would go downstairs and breakfast will be waiting, and I’ll finish it. After that I’ll ask what needs to be bought and I go and buy it. After my daughter came along, I try to spend the time with her and take her out and play with her. The people working in the house really like her too. It was a very serious household. Not a lot of laughter, until the little girl came along.

The lounge area is a very well lit, bright yellow lounge area. It’s a nice house. A very inviting house. It just feels too organized, structured. Also a little bit empty.

The house number is No. 19. I feel as if I’m in Seremban. I just want to make my husband happy, but he’s not really there. So, I’m provided with material things. But that’s it.

The little girl has grown bigger. She’s 15 years old. She’s going to school. She’s doing well.
Still very smiley person. I’m still spending a lot of time with her. Sitting down with her and having a chat. Going through her homework. She seems to have quite a lot of friends at school. She rides the bicycle there. She’s wearing a school uniform. Long dark blue skirt, with a white shirt. Black shoes, white socks….carries a little bag.  Her bicycle is black. I’m happy that she is adjusting so well in school and I hope that she doesn’t end up like me, where it’s so lonely.

She does many things and sees the world and tries to do as many things as she can, before she settles down. That’s what I tell her as well.

I feel like it’s now in the 1950’s. My daughter is going to board a plane and she’s going off to somewhere else. My husband is still around but I don’t see him. She’s boarding that plane and is excited and I’m a little bit worried that she’s going on her own. She’s really happy and excited.

I’m feeling older. I’ve got grey hair. Still wearing similar clothes. I’m kind of sad to see her go but I’m sure she’s gonna be ok. It’s gonna be a short trip, then she’ll be back.

End of life:
I’m in a bed, like a hospital. Some white railings at the side. Strange, I don’t feel ill. I feel very clearheaded. I also feel empty in the sense that I look back and find that I didn’t do anything, except that I have a daughter who’s happy.

I see a picture on the wall. A picture of flowers. I wonder where my daughter is now. There is no one there. It looks like very bright room. It doesn’t look like a hospital but it’s definitely clinical. It’s bright and cheery. I just feel philosophical. Not happy or sad. Perhaps a little regretful for not doing more, of living a life and trying different things, but always waiting and making sure the place is organized. I’m sitting there and looking back and wishing that I had more friend or went out to make friends but I didn’t. I was always waiting for my husband to be around or to come back.

I’m wondering where my daughter is. It’s like after she left, she didn’t come back. Or maybe I didn’t let her know I was gonna to go. I’m just wishing that if I had the opportunity to relive the whole time, I would do it differently completely. I’m 65 years old. But I feel older and weaker. I feel like I’ve not finished living yet but I’m supposed to go already.

I feel I’m really thin. Looks like I’ve wasted away, maybe not eaten. But my mind is still clear. Just generally very weak.

I’m just in the room. Just lying there. The mind is full of thoughts. Just waiting to close my eyes and sleep.

Now it’s gone darker. I’m my mind I’m just wishing that I was on a motorbike and going off somewhere and that was one of the things that I could have done. And I’m thinking this as I’m lying there.

Next life:
I’ve taken the motorbike. It’s an old dark green vehicle. I’m taking it through the villages and going exploring.

I see lots of coconut tress. Rice paddies. Dirt road. I’m on a motorbike. I’m a white man. I’m dressed up in all these gear with a white scarf for some strange reason. I’m riding an old military type motorbike. I’m just enjoying myself going through the villages, passing through the different ages. I’m around 18 – 20 years old. I think I’m in Indonesia. I feel like I have a very boisterous character. Very jovial and easy going personality. There’s a big smile on my face and when I see people, I start waving to them. I’m white. I’m wearing a green helmet. But I feel so free and happy. It’s really dusty. But it’s so fun.

10 years later:
I married a malay lady and I’ve learnt to speak the language. The way she dresses is like a Javanese.

10 years later:
I’m older. I have to hide from the Japanese, because of my skin colour. Even though I’m not connected to the war. I’m hiding in the jungle. I’m with my wife. We hide and we come out later. We do this very often to just avoid being caught. The people in the village are very good. They don’t say anything. I don’t have any children. I work the fields like every one else. I watch the rice grow. That’s basically my life.

Spirit world in between lives
I’m in a room that is bathed in white light. I’m sitting with other people, dressed in white. There’s one main person who’s like the source of energy where they know everything. They’ve all the knowledge in this world. They’ve all the serenity and calmness. I feel as if I just want to talk to this person. I go and sit next to the person and he smiles. He says “keep your mind open. You’re on a journey of learning. Then you’ll be able to teach other people, and he says I have to learn how to let go.

Lessons learnt:
I’ve got to stop waiting for other people to make things happen for me and make me happy. I can have everything but still feel unhappy. In the first past life that I saw, although I ran the place, I didn’t feel like I was owning the place or in control of what was going on. Even if I did have the control, it’s that I didn’t use it. I also didn’t use the control over my own life and that was the source of my being lonely. It was not my husband (who’s constantly away), nor anything else. It was a bright beautiful house that had the potential to be a lot happier.