24/08/2025

ON SUNDAY August 24, 2025 theSunday Special VII

A nostalgic peek at pre-GPS navigation culture

BEFORE Google Maps entered our glove compartments and pockets, Malaysian directions were less “turn left in 200m” and more … interpretive dance. You weren’t told the street name – you were told to look for “the corner shop with the faded Tiger beer sign.” If you passed the stall selling nasi lemak wrapped in newspaper, you’d gone too far. Some instructions relied on memory that aged poorly: “After the roundabout that used to have the fountain, now it’s a KFC.”

In cities, everyone was someone’s Waze. You called ahead and asked for landmarks. “Near the old cinema lah ,” even if the cinema had been gone since 1988. In small towns, it was even more poetic: “Drive until you see three mango trees, then turn where the cows usually sit.” And let’s not forget the Malaysian hand gestures – vague but confident swipes of the arm, suggesting everything from a sharp U-turn to divine intervention.

When digital guidance becomes a crutch, our ability to think spatially quietly erodes.

In Malaysia, we see it in everyday life. Many young adults struggle to get VRPHZKHUH WKH\¶YH EHHQ ¿YH WLPHV ± XQ less guided again. Jalan something? Ring road? Forget it. The moment we follow step-by-step au dio instructions, we stop building internal maps. We become passive navigators in our own cities. In fact, a growing number of psy chologists now refer to this as “digital GLVRULHQWDWLRQ´ ± WKH JUDGXDO RXWVRXUFLQJ of environmental awareness to tech. Urban Malaysians, especially may know their mall layouts better than their own residential zones. Students studying in D GL̆ HUHQW VWDWH RIWHQ UHWXUQ KRPH VWLOO unsure of shortcuts in their neighbour hoods. The rise of trust issues Here’s the paradox: while we trust our phones, we also blame them. If we’re late, it’s “Waze sent me the long way”. If we get stuck, it’s “Google Maps didn’t warn me”. We project both hope and blame onto our GHYLFHV %XW KRZ RIWHQ GR ZH UHÀHFW RQ RXU navigation laziness? Let’s not forget the generational rift. Older Malaysians who once memorised HQWLUH URXWHV QRZ ¿QG WKHPVHOYHV VHFRQG guessed by their kids: “Are you sure? The app says turn here.” E YHQ ORFDO GULYHUV ± RQFH OLYLQJ HQF\ - clopaedias of side roads and shortcuts now glance nervously at app instructions. Many grumble that “the app doesn’t

know the real way”, but follow it anyway, worried passengers will rate them low if they stray. It’s no longer about trust in knowledge. It’s trust in the algorithm. The lost romance of being lost There was something magical about wandering. About taking the scenic route. About seeing a stall by the roadside and VWRSSLQJ ± QRW EHFDXVH *RRJOH RU :D]H said so, but because something smelled good. Today, we go where the algorithm allows. If it’s not pinned, it doesn’t exist. The thrill of detour, the surprise discovery, the joy of getting a little lost? Fading fast. Of course, tech isn’t evil. Navigation apps save time, reduce stress and help prevent actual danger. But they also change our relationship with the world. Instead of explorers, we become followers. Some believe augmented reality navigation will be the next world where \RXU JODVVHV RU ZLQGVFUHHQ VKRZ ÀRDW ing arrows and real-time guides. That might make things even easier. Or more detached. Others are trying to push back. Some families run “no map” road trips. And some kampung folks still say, “Just follow the coconut trees. You can’t miss it.” Maybe we need a hybrid model. Use *36 IRU Ḣ FLHQF\ EXW VWLOO ÀH[ WKDW LQWHU nal compass. Get lost once in a while. Ask a stranger. Miss a turn. Take the long way. Getting there is important. But so is remembering how you got there.

Can spatial memory be rebuilt?

THE short answer? Yes – but like any underused muscle, it takes conscious effort to retrain. Spatial memory isn’t just a quirk of the brain; it’s a cognitive skill that helps us visualise routes, estimate distances and feel anchored in physical space. While over-reliance on GPS can dull this ability, re searchers suggest it’s far from irreversible. One trick is to start small. Try navigating to familiar places without your phone. Instead of relying on turn-by-turn instruc tions, glance at a map first, then tuck your phone away and trust your instincts. Even if you miss a turn, the act of recovering builds confidence. Walking helps too. Unlike driving, walk ing forces you to engage more senses – the smell of a bakery, the bend of a road, the

feel of an incline. These cues strengthen memory pathways. In fact, some therapists now recom mend “narrative walking” as a brain exercise. Describe your route aloud or to yourself as you move: “Left at the green gate, right past the school.” It sounds silly, but it works. There’s also the social side. Asking for directions, especially in a local language, brings back the communal feel of wayfind ing and creates human markers tied to memory. So while we may have offloaded much of our navigation to our screens, the tools for reawakening our inner compass are still within reach. Like all good things, it starts with paying attention and being willing to get a little lost.