ROOTS REAWAKENED: A NIGHT OF LIHING, LEGACY & LIVING HERITAGE - By Writer On - The - Go

There are evenings that simply pass, and then there are evenings that linger like the last note of a beautiful song. This was one of the latter.

At the gentle insistence of the host, every detail of the night was to be remembered, documented, and cherished. For what unfolded was not merely a gathering, but a living archive of stories, flavours, and identity. Somewhere between laughter and reflection, a quiet thought emerged, perhaps it was time to reimagine the voice behind the pen. But like all meaningful ideas, it was left to breathe.

Sasad, or yeast, in making Lihing

Five individuals came together, bound not by occasion, but by origin. The connection was immediate, effortless, as though time itself had folded to reunite them.

Three were daughters of Penampang: Principal Flavia Suimin, educator Laini Ahing, and the host, Lorena herself. They were joined by Faye Robert of Inanam, whose lineage echoed back to Penampang, and Christine Liew of Kinarut, the youngest, vibrant and inquisitive. Both Faye and Christine, immersed in the tourism industry, carried a shared curiosity: how might heritage be preserved, celebrated, and experienced anew?

Principal Flavia (left) and teacher Laini

As stories unfurled, a striking truth emerged, their roots were intricately intertwined. Nearly every family had, at some point, been part of crafting Lihing, the treasured rice wine of the Kadazan people.

What followed was a sensory symphony.

At the heart of the table sat Linopot, fragrant hill rice wrapped in banana leaves, delicately folded with cubes of purple sweet potato. It was accompanied by Losun, wild greens with a sharp, aromatic edge, an essential presence whispered about in local sayings: Linopot is never complete without it.

Losun vegetables,  a wild spring-onion like greens,  a good pair with Linopot set

Tiny basung fish, fried to crunchiest, perfect finger food

There was fried fish, golden and crisp, offering a satisfying crunch with every bite, and an assortment of pickled vegetables that danced on the palate with bright acidity. Together, these elements created a tapestry of taste, earthy, tangy, sweet, and textured, each bite elevated by a sip of Lihing.

The air carried more than aroma. It carried memory.

It was the scent of kitchens long before modern time, of hands that cooked without measurement, guided only by instinct and inheritance. This was not simply dining. It was a return, a quiet journey back to the essence of Kadazan life, where food, drink, and community are inseparable.

Yet what made the evening truly remarkable was not nostalgia alone, but rediscovery.

Even as custodians of this culture, the group found themselves seeing it anew, through shared stories, through laughter, through the gentle glow of understanding that heritage is never static, it lives, evolves, and waits patiently to be revisited.

Faye brought a delightful dimension to the session, weaving Kadazan words into her explanations. Though she stumbled at times, her effort carried a quiet poignancy, a reminder of a language once spoken daily, now slowly fading. In her attempt was a message: preservation begins with trying.

Faye Robert, owner of a travel agency

She marvelled at the ancient precision of rice wine making, how elders, without written records, held entire recipes in memory, crafting perfection through repetition and intuition.

Principal Flavia reflected on her mother’s practice, recalling the presence of the Tajau, the ceremonial jars, and the whispered pantang—the sacred silence observed during fermentation, believed to ensure a successful brew.

Laini, candid and reflective, admitted she had never felt compelled to learn the craft. Yet that evening stirred something deeper. She spoke of the resilience of women in earlier generations, how traditions like lihing-making were not merely cultural acts, but testaments to strength, endurance, and quiet mastery.

Christine Liew, staff of a travel agency

Christine, curious and bright, brought fresh wonder into the circle. She spoke of a bottle of aged Lihing resting in her family home, its colour deepened with time, and questioned its safety. The answer revealed yet another layer, aged Lihing is often treasured as a tonic, even enhancing dishes such as chu kiok son, a rich pork knuckle stew, where it lends depth and character.

Then came a moment that felt almost written by fate.

A simple question, “Were you once teaching at All Saint School?”
A smile. A pause. Recognition.

Teacher and student, reunited.

What began as a cultural session quietly transformed into something even more meaningful, a bridge across time, reconnecting lives once intertwined.

And perhaps, beyond the warmth of that evening, lies an even greater vision.

Imagine this experience shared with the world, with travellers, with seekers of authenticity. A Lihing-making session not merely as demonstration, but as immersion. A living heritage experience, where culture becomes both celebration and sustainable livelihood for the community.

That night, heritage was not observed. It was lived.

In the soft clinking of glasses, in the rhythm of forgotten words, in the richness of every shared dish, something timeless awakened. Identity, resilience, belonging.

Not as history.

But as something beautifully, undeniably alive.