Past...

It was 1983, and the happy family – minus the father, who was at work - were sitting having breakfast when suddenly one of the servants came running in and said that she noticed a man peering in through the hall window.

The mother rushed over to the front door and yanked it open catching the intruder just in time. He was dressed in orange robes, holding a clipboard in his hands and when he saw her, he asked her her surname.

She replied, he checked it with the clipboard, thanked her, and rushed off. The daughter came over with her 3 year old child in her arms and asked what was wrong. The mother told her not to worry and to get back to breakfast.

Half an hour later, the smell of smoke invaded the house. The family of servants in the backhouse decided to check it out, and came rushing back frantically. The house was on fire.

Amid all the confusion, the daughter gathered whatever she could get her hands on and that could be carried easily and then she and her mother were ushered out through the kitchen door. The 63 year old mother helped support her 31 year old daughter who was climbing over the high stone wall with her crying child in her arms and then struggled to join her on the other side.

The neighbours who had sensed something was amiss and had come out to investigate rushed over and dragged them inside. They snuck them into the basement and shut the door, just as their front door was being pounded on by a group of people in yellow robes, checking for hidden people.

Suddenly a dog started barking from the burning house. The daughter let out a small scream which was luckily disguised by the chaos outside, and one of the servants rushed up the stairs and returned 10 minutes later with a small white fluffy dog which was clearly in distress, in his arms.

For 2 days the small group lay huddled in the basement of the house, and for 2 days the daughter fed her child milk just enough to lie on the tip of her finger whenever the child threatened to make a noise as she didn't want to run out of milk. Then finally the neighbours came to collect them, and they went over to see their house.

Burnt to the ground, barely recognisable, they shifted through the rubble but couldn't find anything worth salvaging. They could see thin wisps of smoke rising in the distance. All documents were burnt and so they couldn't leave, but when the servants hopped on a bus which would take them back to their home town, they gave the whimpering dog to them and made them promise to take care of her. As the overcrowded bus left the station, the dog gazed at them, puzzled, through the back window.

For the next few days they lived with their neighbours as the government had taken control, and then the father finally returned home looking as if he had aged 50 years. A politician, he was kept safe in another town but had worried endlessly about his wife, daughter and first grandchild. They left to his work-house, and a few weeks later, the daughter's husband managed to get her and the child down to Malaysia. The mother and father however, were unable to leave the country and so rented out a small flat after their daughter left.

And thats how my family ended up in Malaysia. The daughter was my mom, and my sister was almost four years old. Sri Lankan ethnic riots had erupted, and the 'main race' were revolting and burning down the houses of the 'other race'. And the government only took action 2 days later. Pets were looted in front of the families to add to their grief.

My dad was working with the UN at the time and was back in his home country of Malaysia, and was due to go back to Sri Lanka to visit his family in a short time. Luckily he had not left yet, and so he managed to get them down safely.

My sister re-started kindergarten here, at Villamaria. Everyday she would cling on to my mother's arm and cry saying that she wanted to go back home.

Since then, my mom, who since she had married had gone back to Sri Lanka 4 times a year to visit, has been extremely reluctant to return. Even to this day she misses so many relatives weddings and funerals and stuff, and only goes if one of us is involved in the proceedings.

My grandad was the Minister of Transportation. He would have been killed if he had been at home at the time. My grandmom had an influential father (he owned several diamond mines) and was so fair that she looked a lot like the 'main race', which was what prevented the looters from burning down the house immediately. They had trouble figuring out if they should or not.

My uncle was working in Qatar, and his wife and daughter were also on holiday, but they were staying in my grandfathers work-house (he had a house on the same lot as his office – kinda like Putrajaya) and so were safe, but he rushed them home immediately.

My grandparents were left with almost nothing. From a magnificent house with a whole family of servants at their beck and call, they were now in a small rented flat, my grandad lost his job when the cabinet was reshuffled, and they had to make do. Eventually things got better.

They moved into a bigger better house, which they rented from an American doctor who had put his blood and tears into making it beautiful. However, one day, the 'terrorist organisation who are now fighting there' invaded the house and used it as their headquarters. My grandparents were kept as prisoners in one room, and were even used as human sheilds. One day, when the house was almost bombed, the terrorists decided to leave and so they were finally were able breathe safely.

They immediately moved again, and this time bought a non-descript house in a non-descript area. They lived there happily till their end.

I'm proud of my family because, eventhough I didn't experience any bad memories when I was small, they did, and I just can't imagine what they went through.

And thats how I'm here :) Imagine how different life would be if there had been no riots. I would be some spoilt kid who was raised in Sri Lanka (my dad loved it so much, and had gotten an amazing job opportunity there), and would probably be studying overseas from the age of 13 like many of my moms friends. My families given up so much – money, parties, influence – to ensure that my sister and I have a good life here. It shows what their priorities are. Family first.

And that's why I don't feel guilty when I sometimes brag about my family :) They deserve every single ounce of praise and adoration they can get.