Its Saturday morning, the 8th day of Raya. One week after a whole month of preparations, anticipation and excitement of Ramadhan, and what transpired right after is a weekful of tummy stuffing and constipation. A glorious 30 days passed by, where greed and gluttony were suppressed, energy was at abundance and clothes were loose, but all was merely a passing dream come eve of Raya, when old habits return and you’re back to your old overfed, overstuffed, lack of energy self.
Hari Raya is not about ketupat, lemang, rendang, lodeh, kuah kacang and serunding. Its not about containers of rainbow coloured cookies or triple layer plates of kuih lapis, chocolate cakes or dodol. Its not about halwa masqat, kek suji or wajik. And neither is it about multiple channels of Raya musicals, movies and dramas featuring the crème of your local celebrities and sensational ‘artists-of-the-moment’. It should be about getting together with families and friends, asking and giving of forgiveness and the re-bonding of ties that were slightly severed in the mad busy world of everyday life. You want to meet more often, you want to ask about the new baby, the new job, the last taken holiday, which cousin married whose daughter, of course you do want to know, but like always, its just that the timing is never right.
So you make the compulsory drive balik kampung, on in my case, the overnight stays at the good ole parents’ house, since its only a 5-minute drive away. And you engage in the routine scurry for the best seat in front of the TV for Pengumuman Raya from the Penyimpan Mohor-Mohor Besar DiRaja, knowing fully well that it won’t be Raya, and you dash off for the last Terawikh and the day after, the last minute purchases of baking needs, Raya attire needs and the beginning of the cooking frenzy, both for the night Takbir men and the proper Raya festivities. And on Raya day itself, the men flock off to the mosque in full Malay regalia and the women get the table ready and laden with the fruits of yesterday’s labour. And when the men return, you’re well on your way to your old greedy and overfed self.
And long after the Maaf Zahir Batin and angpow sessions are over, which took perhaps only a few seconds, when THAT should have been what Raya is all about, all that’s left is the beautiful memory of the full table and the agonizing reality of sore tummies, diarrhea and constipation.
And I hate the fact that I’m always full of regret that I didn’t do it differently this time, yet never made an effort to change.
Hari Raya is not about ketupat, lemang, rendang, lodeh, kuah kacang and serunding. Its not about containers of rainbow coloured cookies or triple layer plates of kuih lapis, chocolate cakes or dodol. Its not about halwa masqat, kek suji or wajik. And neither is it about multiple channels of Raya musicals, movies and dramas featuring the crème of your local celebrities and sensational ‘artists-of-the-moment’. It should be about getting together with families and friends, asking and giving of forgiveness and the re-bonding of ties that were slightly severed in the mad busy world of everyday life. You want to meet more often, you want to ask about the new baby, the new job, the last taken holiday, which cousin married whose daughter, of course you do want to know, but like always, its just that the timing is never right.
So you make the compulsory drive balik kampung, on in my case, the overnight stays at the good ole parents’ house, since its only a 5-minute drive away. And you engage in the routine scurry for the best seat in front of the TV for Pengumuman Raya from the Penyimpan Mohor-Mohor Besar DiRaja, knowing fully well that it won’t be Raya, and you dash off for the last Terawikh and the day after, the last minute purchases of baking needs, Raya attire needs and the beginning of the cooking frenzy, both for the night Takbir men and the proper Raya festivities. And on Raya day itself, the men flock off to the mosque in full Malay regalia and the women get the table ready and laden with the fruits of yesterday’s labour. And when the men return, you’re well on your way to your old greedy and overfed self.
And long after the Maaf Zahir Batin and angpow sessions are over, which took perhaps only a few seconds, when THAT should have been what Raya is all about, all that’s left is the beautiful memory of the full table and the agonizing reality of sore tummies, diarrhea and constipation.
And I hate the fact that I’m always full of regret that I didn’t do it differently this time, yet never made an effort to change.
And what I had planned to do never materialised. Like teaching my kids the true meaning of Ramadhan and Shawal. Some things, like this and the new Astro 3-digit numbers, just take longer to understand. Other things, like getting constipated after all-you-can-eat rendang, doesn’t take that long…
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