There is Another World Beyond Those Clouds - By Dona Samson Zappone

Written By: Dona Samson Zappone

Category: Creative Non-Fiction. Real Life story.

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In her evocative memoir, "There is Another World Beyond Those Clouds," Dona Samson Zappone invites readers into the cherished memories of her childhood. Submitted to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this creative non-fiction piece reflects on the formative years spent at her grandparents' home on a remote rubber plantation. Through vivid storytelling, Zappone captures the essence of family, resilience, and the aspirations that shape our lives.

About the Work

Dona Samson Zappone's memoir weaves a rich tapestry of nostalgia, cultural heritage, and the innocence of youth. Her narrative is imbued with vivid imagery of the 1950s, where the simplicity of life on a plantation contrasts with the complexity of family dynamics and personal growth. Through her reflective prose, Zappone explores themes of loss, survival, and the pursuit of dreams, offering readers a window into a world both familiar and distant.

There is another world beyond those clouds. A Memoir (c) 2026

Original Submission by Dona Samson Zappone

There is another world beyond those clouds: Memoir © 2026

1. Childhood memory

The happiest time in my early years were spent at my grandparents’ house, on

a remote rubber plantation. The small house was up on a hill-all these houses resembled the same design for the rubber tappers and their families. This was the 1950s-no school yet, no community centre for the parents or grandparents to hang out.

I was just three years old. One younger sister was two, and one just a baby. Our mother had passed away suddenly-no one to watch over us. Our father sent us to live with our grandparents. He borrowed a friends car-since he only drove a motorcycle to work. It was miles away from civilazation. Rows and rows of rubber trees on the roadside, tall coconut trees, rain forest trees, banana, mango, guava. One could hear the monkeys screech in the forest leading to the plantation. No street lights. It would be pitch black by four in the evening. The wild boar, tiger would venture out to hunt for food for their young.

The (50s) stone cottage was small. The main living quarters was separated by a colourful sarong, blocking the kitchen area, and the bathroom which held a huge Chinese urn, a plastic dipper for bathing. Grandfather would fill up the urn in the afternoons on his lunch break, and separate the water buckets for cooking as well.

Great grandmother was blind, but I would help assist her, to sit outside in the small balcony with her walking stick. She loved sitting outside, listening to sounds of the wild animals in the forest. Grandmother would prepare the milk bottle (powdered milk) for my baby sister, prepare lunch for us. I would sometimes sit on a little wooden bench to help in the kitchen. The local radio would be playing Bollywood music or dramas! My grand parents would listen to it after the evening meal. Eating lunch was a nightmare for us two younger kids-it was served on a banana leaf! Not easy for a three- and two-year-old to manoeuvre-all that sauce running away from you! Not a pretty sight. I would cry buckets.

Grandfather felt bad. Grandma would say: ‘They need to learn!’

Don’t worry little ones, grandfather would go see that man at the ‘kedai runcit’

and pick up two plates, two spoons, two cups for us kids! Grandfather would arrive home with the goodies and some lollies for us. This one shop in the village sold, vegetables side by side with kitchen utensils, brooms, groceries, newspapers-but no English papers then. No stationary either.

When our father came to visit with my two older sisters, they would bring me book to read, an exercise book to practise my writing skills, spelling, colour pencils and a flat blank notebook for drawing. We did not have a newsagent that sold these items. Grandparents would prepare whatever they had for a meal. We all sat on a mat to eat. Father laughed when grandfather brought out the two set of crockery and plates for us two younger children. He had tears in his eyes. He could not afford much with just two jobs in our hometown in Kota Tinggi.

He was struggling to feed seven kids and adults. But he kept his head low- not get involved in any secret societies who would recruit the poor tin miners and rubber tappers who fell on hard times. It was a struggle. But our father had a strong spirit that he passed on to us kids. Work and study hard and get a good job and support other family members. Our father managed to feed and clothe seven kids and four more later on in life when he re-married. He is my hero.

Teaching us basic reading, writing, drawing, language skills for school.

Always supporting us in our pursuits in life. He also taught me to type on a manual typewriter when I was ten years old. It gave me the basic skill for work experience when I left school. Also learning reading skills with the only local English paper, ‘The New Straits Times.’ He would mark little items for me to read with a pencil. I learnt very fast to read and write. I had a little exercise book for writing skills, also to practise writing with a fountain pen, which prepared me for writing exercises in school. Our teacher was impressed. Our father was proud. But my two older brothers did not enjoy school! They rather hang out with the older kids, swim in the river, go fishing, not do any homework. Since we did not have a phone, our teachers all knew our father in the main town area. They would say ‘hello’ at his office above a Chinese coffee-shop, ‘’Kopi- Tiam’

Even the headmaster was father’s colleague, so was our English teacher. It was a small town. Word got around about our lazy brother’s who wagged schools occasionally. I do remember once our father was so mad, when he got home, he wrapped his sarong real tight, brought a fat rope, when my brothers arrived home from wherever they had been all afternoon, father was waiting.

He chased them around the neighbourhood-all the way around the slippery ground!! All the neighbours watched this drama unfold. Father was mad.

‘Come here, you little bastards! How dare you do not attend school. What are you going to do in with your life. Are you two going to turn into little criminals!’ I do not want to hear another word from your teacher again, understood.”

II.

The forest felt dark and mysterious. Tall ghost rain forest trees surrounded the stone cottage. It would be dark by four in the evening. No electricity in this part of the world. One could smell the heat of the rubber sheets hanging to dry in the smoke house for export to other countries for all sort of commodities. The villagers were poor. There were no schools here. Since I was only three, I hung around at home in the confines of this small house. Would assist great-grandmother, who was blind, to sit outside in the fresh air. We would wait for the Chinese cake seller to come down our street for midday ‘tiffin’. Grandfather Fonseka would leave us some small change to buy these steamed cakes to have with tea and coffee-made with light condensed milk. No fresh milk-as we did not have electricity then. Only a kerosene lamp lit at night.

I enjoyed waiting anxiously for the Chinese cake seller or ‘queh man’to stop-by our house. I would rush down the steps onto the street, with 10 cents to buy his steamed cakes. I would say ‘ thank you in Mandarin’ He would laugh-his gap-tooted smile, happy to hear that I was clever enough to learn Mandarin and Cantonese at three. I would get an extra steamed coconut cake. I would bring the cups of tea grandfather had made before he left for work after lunch. It was still hot. I would grab my two year old sister, we would drink the tea and share the cakes. Great grandmother would say something in Tamil-I never understood! Father taught us English and Bahasa (Malaysian) language. No idea how he communicated with his in-laws? It’s a mystery to a child. I was multi-lingual by the time I was old enough to attend school and our whole life changed.

One day when I was four years old, something big happened in this part of the world. A rubber tapper, taking the short-cut home was almost attacked by a tiger waiting for its prey. He escaped by the skin of his teeth, screaming his lungs and frightened the tiger away. A week later another farmer found a shady spot to sit-gather his thoughts, say his midday prayers, while his goats and one cow were tattered to a tubber tree. The tiger had grabbed the goat and disappeared into the dark recess of the rubber trees-not a sound was heard. Only the long rope that was left behind. The cow was safe. The farmer was so terrified telling the tale to whoever would listen. My grandfather would also take this short cut to work as an overseer in the early mornings-still pitch black and hazy. He carried an oil lamp and a long stick. The ground was covered in dead leaves and moss around the trees. The milky liquid still dripping in the metal bucket under the trees to catch the latex-that turns it into rubber sheets.

We could see the women spinning the rubber sheets to dry through an ancient machine-that in the early 1950s some household used them to spin clothes to dry and hang them on long clothes line on the side of the houses.

Lots of the kids were bored. No place for them to hang out. They would make little rubber balls from leftover sheets of rubber that had being sliced. We would play ball with these. Wooden tops, marble. Old ball-bearings from rusted bicycles from the neighbourhood! I always hung out with my brothers and other kids in our hometown in Kota Tinggi. We would grab little buckets and old tea strainers from the kitchen to catch fish or tad poles. We would raid grandmas stash of jam jars from her kitchen to catch fireflies ( api-api).

III. Time to return back to civilization and the big city.

Our father had arrived in a borrowed car to drive us home. Grandfather was sad to see us leave. I hugged my grandfather extra tight, crying my eyes out.

“ He said, don’t worry little one, I will come to visit ok. Now dry your eyes, help great grandma into the car, so she doesn’t trip. Be strong, you look after your sisters and study hard”. Grandpa hugged me tight and let go. His tears stuck to his moustache. We all said good-bye. Grandmother followed us, as there was no-one to watch over us when father worked three jobs. She was our anchor, our lifeline over the years. Only saw grandfather once when I was a teenager. He did not like city life. Years later in 2004, my brother who was home on a visit informed us grandfather had passed away. We were sad. The old rubber plantation changed hands to few British overseers and later shut down as it was too remote for the English to live with their families. In the 20th Century it was bull-dozed land and houses to make way for oil-palm plantations. Families were re-housed in the city.

III. Present. 2026

I want to be a great poet /writer

Write thought provoking books, poetry and prose

Like those famous poets in history

Who are still famous after they are dead!

I have read all my books on my bookshelf and more

Have insights until something amazing happens

Want to read as much as I can

For my brain to contemplate complex issues

Before it shuts down with Alzheimer’s

I want all that knowledge sprouting like mung beans

In a petri dish- under the microscope-for research

I want to be THE famous writer with power

Whose books are made into films, talked on a radio program

To be powerful, strong to produce emotions from my audience

Laugh, cry, be talked about, hated and loved on social media

I want to have that power like the famous actor ‘ Liam Neeson who can say:

‘I have a certain skill set; I want you to listen very carefully

before the nights over to make you suffer.

When you wake up in hell

I will still be reciting my poetry

Till you collapse in agony

And say: ‘Please kill me now!’

I am in my 70s now-going partially blind! On the waiting list for eye surgery. Still writing and being creative. Keeping my brain active. Part of the local poets group.

Living in Australia has given me lots of opportunities as a writer and artist. Have signed up for part-time undergraduate studies (2027) at a local university, wonder where it will lead me……

Words in Bahasa translation

1 Kota Tinggi- my hometown of my birth

2. Api-api-glow worms only found in South East Asia

3 rubber tapper- the men and women who worked on the rubber plantation

4. Queh Man- Chinese cake seller

5. Tiffin- midday meal/ cakes /savouries/ its also a 3 tiered stainless steel food container

6. Kopi Tiam- Chinese coffee shop

7. kedai runcit- local grocery store

8. The New Straits Times-our English language newspaper

WORDS: 2003

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, celebrates the literary talents of writers worldwide. This prestigious event invites participants to share their unique voices and stories across various genres, fostering a vibrant community of creativity and expression. The competition is a testament to the power of words in bridging cultures and inspiring audiences everywhere.

Thank you, Dona Samson Zappone, for sharing your poignant memoir, "There is Another World Beyond Those Clouds," with us. Your participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 enriches the tapestry of stories that connect us all. We wish you continued inspiration and success in your creative endeavors.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.