The houses were packed in, separated only by a narrow boardwalk on which I sat. As I sketched, I embraced the wonder of the Lim Jetty, a world beyond my own.

Yet there were familiar elements.

The migrant fishermen who built the jetties in Penang, Malaysia, came from China in the mid-19^th century and brought with them their culture. Chinese lanterns were strung from house to house and at the entrance to the clan community stood a temple. The smell of burning incense wafted through the air.

Three women approached, carrying Chinese New Year decorations, like the one my neighbour hung from her apartment door, many miles away. They didn’t ascend an elevator but walked planks to get home and would, I supposed, hang them from the door of a home, made, not with concrete and rebar, but patched together with sheets of corrugated zinc in this village of stilted homes that hovers over the water.

I smiled at the women, and as they glanced at my sketch, they smiled. My gaze followed them and I saw into the open window of another home. A young boy drove his toy cars on the floor with a woman whose midnight hair was streaked with strands of white. He spotted me and ran to the window.

I smiled at the boy and he stared, then drove his car along the edge of the window. Seeing him brought back memories of my own son, driving cars on our tile floor, when we first settled in China. Home was refuge for my boy – when we were outside playing people stopped and stared, his white blonde hair a contrast to the people they knew, the life they knew, just like I, now, was looking at this boy with curiosity.

I wondered about his family history, about the men and women, who, a century and a half ago, came from China searching for work. They, like me, had picked up their families and moved to another land. What kind of life had they envisioned? Had they hoped for more?

I guessed they had. To be human is to yearn for more. Yet, through their resourcefulness, they created a community so unique it draws tourists from around the world, inviting them to step into the past and connect with simple Chinese fishermen who faced challenges and found their own way to stand.

From the looks of it, this boy wasn’t thinking about his distant family members and their decisions. He seemed content to drive cars on the floor and to fish through his window, the slosh of the sea his constant lullaby.

What little boy wouldn’t be?