{
  "id": 6075617,
  "title": "The joy of not looking — Ng Kwan Hoong",
  "url": "https://urgent.news/2026/09/07/the-joy-of-not-looking-ng-kwan-hoong",
  "topic": "culture",
  "section": "Culture",
  "published": "2026-09-07T01:04:22.000Z",
  "source": {
    "name": "Malay Mail",
    "slug": "malay-mail-malaymail",
    "url": "https://www.malaymail.com/news/what-you-think/2026/09/07/the-joy-of-not-looking-ng-kwan-hoong/234218"
  },
  "original_language": "en",
  "account": "September 7 — Nestled on my home shelf is an aged plastic water pump that still functions after more than five decades. While today's standards deem it basic, it remains a source of delight. I frequently handle it, examining it from different angles, and experience a sense of nostalgia. This object evokes memories of my school days and an old bookshop in Kuala Lumpur, where I stumbled upon it. Intriguingly, I never sought out this pump; like many young students in the 1960s and 1970s, I spent afternoons exploring several renowned bookshops in the city. These establishments included Jubilee Bookstore on Batu Road, Antonian Bookshop in Brickfields, and Shanghai Bookstore on Jalan Sultan, near Methodist Boys School, where I once studied. Each shop had its unique character. Antonian was where I primarily purchased textbooks and stationery, while Shanghai Bookstore captivated me with its array of science kits, educational toys, and books filled with potential discoveries. Among the countless books I acquired over the years, I vividly recall my first purchase from Shanghai Bookstore: the little water-pump kit. I had no intention of learning about pumps or mechanical systems when I bought it. Instead, serendipity led me to this simple device on a shelf amidst other science kits. I brought it home, assembled it, and spent countless hours experimenting with its valves, captivated by the pump's ability to manipulate water in various ways. This seemingly insignificant acquisition sparked a deeper curiosity within me about how the pump functioned and why it worked. This experience foreshadowed the trajectory of my career in research. Like many scientists, I often begin with a question, only to discover that the most intriguing findings frequently diverge from my initial expectations. A careful observation leads to further questions, unexpected results prompt new experiments, and what may appear as a mistake can sometimes initiate an entirely new line of investigation. Curiosity has an uncanny ability to lead us to places we never anticipated. The old bookshops quietly fostered this same mindset. A trip to buy a textbook could result in acquiring a book about astronomy, a biography of a scientist, or a science kit that ignited a completely new interest. A comic magazine might inspire a passion for illustration or storytelling. These discoveries were not predictable; they emerged from the freedom to explore and wander. Nowadays, the culture surrounding these old bookshops seems less prominent, replaced by modern technology that makes books more accessible. Online searches and recommendation algorithms are highly efficient, but they assume that our interests are already well-defined. The old bookshops, however, occasionally presented us with something entirely unexpected. As schoolboys, we often entered seeking a specific title and departed excitedly discussing something we hadn't planned to encounter. These moments were not distractions from learning but integral parts of the educational journey. The books I treasure today were often discovered while I was browsing, just as the water pump found its way into my life more than half a century ago. It now resides on my shelf, not merely as a science kit but as a reminder that curiosity often begins with the unexpected. Looking back, these old bookshops were not merely selling books; they created spaces where curiosity could roam freely, where young minds could uncover interests they were unaware of, and where an ordinary afternoon could subtly shape a lifetime. Ultimately, the greatest gift they offered was teaching me the joy of not looking. Ng Kwan Hoong, an Emeritus Professor of Biomedical Imaging at the Faculty of Medicine, Universiti Malaya, is a 2020 Merdeka Award recipient. He is a medical physicist by training but also enjoys writing, drawing, classical music, and bridging the gap between older and younger generations. He can be reached at ngkh@ummc.edu.my.",
  "summary": "SEPTEMBER 7 — On a shelf in my home sits a small plastic water pump that is now more than 50 years old. By today&#...",
  "key_points": [
    "Aged plastic water pump brings nostalgia",
    "Serendipitous discovery from Shanghai Bookstore",
    "Sparks curiosity leading to biomedical imaging career"
  ],
  "editors_take": "The old bookshops' unstructured browsing experience, now largely replaced by technology, taught the author the value of serendipity and curiosity, allowing young minds to discover interests they were unaware of.",
  "illustration": null,
  "coverage": {
    "outlets": 1,
    "also_reported_by": []
  },
  "ai_generated": true,
  "disclaimer": "Summaries, key points and the editor’s take are written by software from other outlets’ reporting and may contain errors — always check the linked original."
}