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Sam Poh Tong
We stepped into a dark room with writings on its walls. The air was a scented mixture of damped limestone, stale bat guano and strong incense. Soon, my senses begin to adjust and paid little heed to the myriad smell. If anything it felt oddly, calming. My eyes were glued to the fascinating characters before me.
‘What does it mean?’ I asked as I carefully ran my hands on the decaying wood matter, wishing that I could unfold their hidden meaning.
L turned me. He said these inscriptions are tales of the past, tailored with rich teachings or philosophies. It wasn't fully decipherable to him either but he mentioned these stories are a powerful tool for communicating wisdom. 'Like the ones in your book...The Chinese fables! With the old evil tiger lady....,' I trailed off as we find another flight of stairs to ascend.
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