Has it really been a year and a half since I visited Singapore and Malaysia?

Wow. Yeah, I guess it has. 

Do I wish I was dining on some Dim Sum in Singapore?

Um. Yes I do, thanks for asking. 

Being 18 months late, do I think this blog is still relevant?

100%, I do.

In late November of 2019, I finally had the opportunity to travel back to the homeland of my mom and 90-year-old grandpa. It was the first time I had been back in 23 years. Oddly enough, I still remembered so many things about what I saw, even as a tiny-nugget 5-year-old. I even remembered what side of the room the TV had been on in one of my auntie’s houses in Malaysia… mainly because I was confused when it was on the opposite side of the room. 

Not only did I get to see a side of my family that I rarely get to interact with, much less see in person, but I did so with my mom and grandpa with me. It was the first time my mom had been back to the land she was born in and grew up in since we went in 1996, and the first time my grandpa had been back since his bride, my grandma, had passed away in 2018. It was a reunion, a mourning, and the adventure of a lifetime all wrapped up in one glorious emotion. 

I think this was a really special trip for me, not only in the moment but looking back on it as well for multiple reasons. I obviously love the travel and adventure aspect of it – seeing new places, meeting new people, eating unique food – but also because it was like a journey through my family lineage and legacy. My hope here is to try and capture why I find both to be important, not just for me, but for you too. 

BACKGROUND AND FAMILY HISTORY

Growing up, I was given a strong sense of family, legacy, and traditions. Both sides of my family were very similar. We all shared a common faith, no real family disputes to speak of, all four of my grandparents were present and loving, and those grandparents instilled values, worldviews, and legacies that would be passed down four generations and counting. It was something I wish everybody could be born into, and for that I’m beyond blessed.

Humor me for a second as I share a brief roundup of my family background… I’ll get to the travel stuff in a second… Pinky promise.

My dad’s parents, Roland and Joan Coffey, were born during the height of the Great Depression. Roland, my Papa, was born in southern Illinois as the baby of his family. Joan was born in the hills of eastern Kentucky, a hillbilly to the core. They were both the first to graduate college in their respective families, met and married while in college, and quickly entered ministry at a very young age. My Papa would go on to be a pastor for more than 60 years until he had to retire from any work at the church to take care of my Nana. This was a job that he performed faithfully every day against the hardships of dementia and Alzheimer’s until her passing in November of 2020. My Nana would raise three sons who loved Jesus and loved sports. She would eventually piece together her graduate degree bit by bit until she finished her Master’s at the young age of 58. Together, my Nana and Papa over the course of their marriage and ministry life would travel to a number of countries together for various missions trips, eventually giving my dad his first taste of international travel to Puerto Rico. *Cue part one of my desire for travel*

The story of my mom’s parents is starkly different, but intricately beautiful. My grandpa, Lionel Muthiah was born in Ipoh, Malaya in 1929 under British rule. Malaya would quickly become occupied by the Japanese during World War II, a time during which my grandpa would learn to speak Japanese, put his education on hold, and solute the flag of Japan. Fast forward, he would eventually get a scholarship to study in the United States and would study in Nashville, TN. My grandma, Marion, was born in a farmhouse in rural North Dakota. She would grow up on the family farm, go to school in a one-room school house, and eventually go to college to be a nurse. Her studies eventually took her to Nashville, TN, where her path eventually crossed with a then slender, charming, ping-pong playing Malaysian man. Their life together would take them back to Southeast Asia as missionaries, where my mom would be born, and then eventually back to the Dakotas, as my grandpa became a Methodist pastor. *Cue part two of my desire for travel*

Needless to say, I grew up with a pretty big worldview. I was exposed to the uniqueness of our world, the magnificence of foreign cultures, and more stories of years gone by and far off lands than I’ll ever be able to remember. 

The one staple throughout these stories (which were enough to fill multiple encyclopedias… trust me), was that they were anchored in family and focused on influences that created the family I was born into. I grew up knowing exactly how my Nana grew up in Virgie, Kentucky. As she reminded us often, her “daddy had a liquor store, but momma didn’t allow liquor in the house.” I know that my grandpa has saluted four separate flags in his life between wars and a change of citizenship. I know where my heritage comes from, that though my mom and grandpa are Malay by birth, our ancestry is of Tamil decent from the Jaffna region of Sri Lanka. Knowing the depth of my family history is something special and I’m definitely aware that this is something that not every family unit has. 

But whether you know all the unique details or not, your family legacy has mattered and will continue to matter.

Brief pause. Enter travel. 

SINGAPORE

Singapore is a paradox of sorts. While located in Southeast Asia, much of the culture is English speaking and environmentally friendly, making it feel very Western. But then you notice all of the brand new luxury BMWs, Mercedes, Lexuses, and more. You see two giant domes that look like a greenhouse, except one houses an indoor rainforest. You see a hotel that looks like a ship sitting on top of three other buildings and you are told it’s actually a hotel AND casino that brings in more money than all of Las Vegas combined (you can fact check with my Singaporean Uncle on that one). It doesn’t take long to realize that this is far different than simply being “Western”. It’s Asian, in the greatest sense. 

Singapore is truly one of the most advanced cities I’ve ever traveled to. I had looked forward to returning so much just to see family that I had vague memories of but hadn’t met in years. I was blown away at the infrastructure, the lack of homelessness, the cleanliness, and the luxury, all in part to my standard Western bias. (*eyeroll at how ethnocentric the West is*)

Upon arriving, you enter Changi International Airport, home to the world’s largest indoor waterfall… because, well, why not. The airport itself has shopping centers, gardens, a greenhouse, and a butterfly garden. Oh and a rooftop pool. It’s literally a destination in and of itself. 

Once outside the airport, Singapore is a conglomeration of Asian cultures. You have Haji Lane in the Arab District, you have Chinatown (70% of Singaporeans are of Chinese decent), you have the hawker stalls full of all types of Asian street food ranging from Indian to Malay to Japanese, you name it. It’s like a full Asian tour all packed into a single city with its own unique culture.

PS #1: You MUST dine at these hawker stalls… SO GOOD. 

I was able to spend more than a week in Singapore with relatives on my grandpa’s side. I was treated with the utmost hospitality and kindness, and WAY more food than my stomach was created for. But it was incredible. Once my mom and my grandpa had arrived, we spent an evening with more than thirty relatives, many of whom I’d never even met. Some of those who came, my grandpa hadn’t seen in decades. It was beautiful. One of the more memorable outings was eating Dim Sum for breakfast at a local place that was on the same street that my great-grandfather had his medical practice nearly 100 years ago. 

PS #2: Dim Sum will always be a top five breakfast food in my book. 

Legacy, re-enter stage left. 

One of the best nights however had nothing to do with Singapore the city but rather our family. My grandma had passed away 18 months prior, here in the States. However, as I mentioned earlier, many of her early years of marriage were spent being immersed into a foreign culture, with a foreign man, in a foreign family. Yet, this family welcomed her as though she were their own. We gathered together, with more than 25 of our Singaporean relatives, while one of my aunties played on the piano and sang some of my grandma’s favorite hymns as they remembered her life, a farm girl from the heart of the Dakotas. It was tear-filled, touching, and full of the deepest sense of legacy. It was a moment that mattered. 

Okay. On to Malaysia.

MALAYSIA

After we arrived in Malaysia our time was much less touristy and much more family based. We met up and stayed with my Auntie “Cuckoo”, a feisty Malaysian lady in her 80’s who still has the flair to get on the back of a motorcycle just to go for a ride. Once again, we were packed full of all sorts of delicious south Asian food and treated like royalty. 

We hosted another gathering for our Malay relatives and spent several hours talking to family members we’d never met. I even got into an hour long conversation on cricket and baseball with an old cricket bowler. I was fascinated to say the least. 

On one of the mornings, we headed north to drive up to Kampar, just north of Ipoh to see the first town my mom grew up in. We pulled up to a giant blue and yellow building where my grandpa began his first career as a teacher. Back then he was a slender, dark, athletic young man with an impeccable set of hair (which he still boasts), and a thin mustache. Across the street was the house he raised his twin daughters in and across from that was the church he pastored. 

We then ventured into a much more remote village, just on the outskirts of Kampar, home of the Sengoi people. I had no idea until this visit that my grandpa was part of the first pastors to preach the Gospel to this group of people. He would make the journey either on bike or foot miles into what seemed like jungle, to eventually establish the first church among the Sengoi. That church is still thriving among this small community, nearly sixty years later. We shared a meal while sitting on the floor of one of the houses of the elders and then joined them in their church to listen to hymns sung in their native tongue. 

It was like watching 60 years of history unfold in this amazing story right before my eyes. 

Let’s tie it all up.

LEGACY

My family has a unique legacy on both sides of my parents; one from the hills of eastern Kentucky and the Midwest, the other coming from homesteaders in North Dakota combined with the far side of the world in Ipoh, Malaysia. There are strong similarities and vast differences, each of which are equally compelling and impactful in the same narrative. 

I believe it’s important to know where you came from to figure out where you’re going. Well, at least where you want to go. Some of us may look to the past and see the mess and piles of ruin and cringe at the dark legacy they’ve come from. Others may be more fortunate and see the footsteps laid before them by strong maternal or paternal figures. Others find themselves somewhere in between. 

It’s important to at least acknowledge it. Take time to see it, to learn about it, to honor it. See the failures, see the successes. Notice the patterns or the outliers. Begin to understand how those have impacted your personal journey and path in life and how it has made you the unique person you are. Taking time to reflect on this can give us a strong vision for the life and legacy we have been building, will continue to build and eventually what we will pass on. 

For me, I was given a huge worldview from the moment I arrived. Stories of train rides through the mountains in Bolivia, of friendships with the Japanese enemy in war, of memories visiting ancient ruins in the Andes, and pictures of memories that couldn’t even be recalled. But even more than that I was taught to honor the differences in cultures and to see the beauty in the people who were totally different than me. I was taught about my heritage and where my family came from, about generations before me and their experiences that led to where my immediate family is today. I’m fortunate to say the least. 

I encourage you to take time to look back on your own family legacy. Learn about it. Search it out, even if it’s messy. Talk about it. There’s probably a diamond in there somewhere that will mean more to you than you realize. And from an experience standpoint,  you never know where it could lead you; maybe to the far side of the world, maybe closer to home. 

| What legacy are you building and what will you leave behind? |