It was 1923, the economy was booming, fringes were sewn into every woman’s dress; mechanical cars zooming through newly built roads, as the nightlife grew to become a favorite to those of age; while the minors dreaming of that American dream.

On top of a hill, up high glaring down onto the city now known as Kuala Lumpur, where the richest would lay their possessions in. The navy blue with a white rooftop and an entrance straight out of ancient Greece; used to be filled with music blasting every weekend. Dashing wealthy men with their wives or mistresses by their arms. Champagne flowed amongst all guests, with fireworks ending the night. The vibrance and mystery from its owner still stayed unknown. Even so, he made the roaring 20s in Malaya for the colonizers and the richest called it: the glory days.

A century later, abandoned by its owner, not a single soul wanted to purchase that million-dollar property after his death. With no one to inherit, the mansion was left to survive on its own. Its statues of lions that once were sparkling copper, now rusty and covered with branches strangling their necks. Leaves scattered around the foyer, as the windows are left open, while the old white curtains with wear and tear swing back and forth. Inside all the luxurious Victorian furniture covered with a white cloth gently placed perpetuating the lack of ownership. One by one, the white selves that once held pages of written words started to tumble down; retiring after many decades of being a support system.

There was no haunt-like feeling nor any expression of what other abandoned buildings exude. Rather history and taste of what it used to be, where all the glory days spent continue to float throughout the rooms. A time when men having multiple mistresses was a usual sight; the amount of pearls a woman wears symbolizes her wealth. The ceilings, walls, and floors convey its loss and memories which once wandered through the mansion. And once in a while, in the master bedroom, where the unknown owner once took the throne, the fragrance of a distinct woody musk scent from his cologne will drift right past your nose. 

The mansion brings back memories from when the British ruled; where after work will shower their privilege from their residence up the hill down to the poor as they live the consequences and watch. With those that stepped foot into the mansion, revealing as if the walls were trying to communicate with them; the urge of blurting out secrets that were heard and kept within the walls. But it is not the exterior that makes the mansion so compelling to many – it’s the view from the backyard. That view, which once was a forest, now a booming city with skyscrapers in every corner; people found it ironic to how the tables have turned from the mansion being the blooming city to the untouched forest. The colonizers contributed a great deal to what the city has become. But the blue and white derelict building will forever take its ownership on top of that hill, struggling to hold on to its story.

Cover image by Vitor Pinto on Unsplash. The copyright of this piece belongs to the author of this literary work.  

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