I remembered when I learned the map of my country (Malaysia) in the school, my geography teacher pointed out with a wit that the West Malaysia (the peninsular) looks like an ubi (tapioca tuber) or a potato and the East Malaysia looks like a bear or a dog.That funny anecdote registered pretty well in my memory so every time i think of the map of my country, I always have a mental image of a bear and a tapioca tuber. Maps are stories and it is the map where the story of ourselves begin. At some point in our lives our perception of the world began to change. Our memory and knowledge of our country from school and childhood story, began to grow and expand with our experience. So this mental map started to include other parts of the world following your understanding of your own history and the history of human kind, and its outline starts to get fuzzy. If any one asks me where is my home on the map. I will answer by saying “its not down in any map”. “True places never are”. “Not the ubi-shape on the map, but the smell of ubi, the memory of the ubi…”