Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri

Dear Diary,

It’s been awhile since I penned by thoughts of Hari Raya, well I’m here again Mr. Diary.

I’ll be celebrating my thirtieth Eid tomorrow, oh gawd that sounds old Mr. Diary. How about I shave off the initial five years of my life, for which I have no recollection of Hari Raya.

Yeah my twenty fifth Eid ul-Fitr sounds better.

Well I’ve vivid cherished memories on the momentous day. Did you know Mr. Diary, that when the family was still staying in Toa Payoh, I recalled playing the sparklers, and firecrackers with my friends.

I couldn’t be more than six or seven perhaps, I might have gotten injured more during this period than most days. If not getting burnt playing the firecrackers, it would be getting bruised as the bunch of us would always run amok in the early mornings of Raya.

Few years later, as much as I protested, the family moved up North. Our place was so ulu (desolated) we might as well be called Johorians.

But all the angst was forgotten Mr. Diary, when I made new friends at my new place in Marsiling. As I grew older I understood why we moved, which is to get closer to my maternal side who was staying in Benut, Pontian.

Hari Raya from then onwards was trekking from Singapore to my grandmother’s place which would take hours. You name it Mr. Diary, it’s like an expedition.

Waiting in-line at the Causeway Immigration, the long bus ride, transiting into another bus, taking the sampan (small boat) crossing the river, and lastly hanging for my life as I hold on to the motorcycle gas tank as my Uncle ferry us back to the kampung (village) at break-neck speed.

My uncles was the very epitome of Mat Rempit pioneers. Oh did I tell you I have seven uncles, or was it eight, and my mum was the only girl. Yes granny was quite the baby maker in her heydays.

There was even once when I nearly drowned during the river crossing as the boat capsized. Yes clearly now you know where my fear of water comes from. Well that story on another Hari Raya entry perhaps ok Mr. Diary.

Upon arriving at the footsteps of my Grandma’s, as always granny would always smothered me and my siblings. Grandpops was the exact opposite of granny, never spoke, always smiling.

I think in my whole lifetime around him, I think he only spoke like a few minutes worth of talk-time to me. I might have picked up my James Dean’s brooding and monosyllabic-ness from him.

Without fail every year the family would always balik kampung, and I was grateful that I experienced part of my childhood days in the village settings. I didn’t realise until later that not many of my city friends actually have a kampung to return to.

Here firecrackers was for sissies. Instead it was the meriam buluh (a small improvised cannon made from canes). But my uncles always prevented me from getting near one. I could only watch in disappointment, bummer.

Well thinking back I was glad they didn’t allow me near the thing, as every year there will always be cases of kids losing their fingers, arms or getting really bad burnts.

Oh did I tell you about the food Mr. Diary. It was a sumptous meal, from the serunding, ketupat, ayam, daging merah, I would always be bloated by the end of family meal, and I have not even started on the trips to other villagers house.

Going to the toilet itself was an experience. Swatting the mosquito was the norm, and at times the lembu (cows) would brush against the door as they grazed around the area. Hey at least they kept me company. Just don’t step into their poo, it’s icky.

Our shower area was au’natural. There’s a small river in front of the house. Every village household takes a dip in there for their showers. After my usual morning routine such as chasing the chicken, at times being chased by them instead, haha, or trying to tip the cow, I would take my morning shower.

It ain’t like the tap water in Singapore, the water was murky, freezing, and if you go in into the deeper end, the river bed was muddy. Just don’t get stuck in there. Once I really got stuck, and had to holler for help. That sure was embarrassing Mr. Diary.

Oh what wonderful memories I had. Now that I’m older I yearn for such experiences, but hey that’s life right. We all have to grow up and keep up with the times. Well I’ll continue my Hari Raya rants on another day perhaps Mr. Diary.

To all the Muslims out there, Selamat Hari Raya and Eid Mubarak.