Our old home in Medan was located in a small neighborhood within the city. There weren’t many cars going through the neighborhood, so I was allowed to roam free as long as I asked for permission first. My favorite place to go was Mak Ucu’s house. She was a relative of my adoptive grandmother. Since my real grandmother lived far, far away in the outback of Sumatra and the others had passed on, I saw Mak Ucu as my own grandma. Mak Ucu came straight out of a history book. She wore long kebayas and sarongs and tied her hair in a bun. She spoke in Malayu accent. I loved her. She did not seem to mind a little girl coming to her house almost daily and probably asked her all kinds of stupid questions. She was a great naptime story-teller. She introduced me to Si Kancil dan Buaya, Si Kancil Lepas dari Bahaya, and Batu Belah. I never got tired of her stories and I asked her to repeat them over and over again. She probably started my love for books, because I started asking for story books before I could read. I looked at the pictures and pretended I could read, and made up my own stories.
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