I was born and bred in exile, where we constantly had to move from one village to the other, each time assuming a different name. So change for me was the only constant. What never changed, however, was my late father and mother’s “meetings”. They would always go to “meetings”. And in these meetings they would always talk about ’65. This happened since I was born, all the way to my adult years. They simply always talk about ’65 - every little thing was about ’65.
One day this made me extremely annoyed, so I said to my father, “Father, what is wrong with you oldies - you always talk about ’65. What do you want? Isn’t life suppose to move forward, instead of being nailed in the past?” This apparently tickled my father - he laughed, “Actually, you’re right, Nita, isn’t that funny? So, you’d call us ‘The Clan of 65’, or something like that?” My children, because they were very close to their late grandfather, definitely got all the stories about ’65 as soon as they were old enough to think and ask questions. And really, even when this quite annoyed me, I think my children are quite lucky. It is natural for us as human to look for our roots - just look at an adopted child, who would usually try to find their origin the moment they know they were adopted. I can’t deny that ’65 is part of our life, and part of my children’s late grandfather’s life. I think these stories must go on, because these stories are our roots. Anita Sobron #living1965 #1965setiaphari
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