Home Blues

Yesterday was Hari Raya Idul Fitri, a celebration of victory over mental and physical desires through a month of fasting for Muslims all around the world. It is a moment of rebirth and cleansing, of forgiveness and starting over. It is a day of silatuhrami, where family and friends reconnect and ask for forgiveness of any wrong doings.

Growing up in Indonesia, the fasting month and the Idul Fitri celebration that comes after is something that you can not escape. It is part of your cultural upbringing regardless what religion you hold. The whole country fast with you; an influx of religious programs on radio and teve, the closure of night entertainment places, the impossibility to serve alcohol in public places, the curtains over the glass windows of MacDonalds and any other cafes, the sleepy faces of public servants, and a general lethargy in the air. You can not miss it.

I miss it though. I don't miss all of the above, but I miss the celebration afterwards. When we were younger, the non-muslim friends would go over to our Muslim friends' house to take part in the feast. It was probably just an excuse to eat for free and hang out, but it was a wonderful feeling of camraderie and community where religions don't matter. We would have a table full of food, in a combination that you only see once a year served buffet style - during Idul Fitri: ketupat, beef rendang, dendeng balado, opor ayam, sambal goreng kerecek, sayur labu siam, and much more. There would be a pile of plates and cutleries and everyone is free to grab whatever they want, as often as they'd like. I get all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.

The other nice thing about Idul Fitri is the emptiness of Jakarta streets. It is customary for people to celebrate Idul Fitri in their home town; and most people would leave Jakarta to join their relatives in their original birth place. This also means that every helper in most house hold would leave town, leaving their employer with their own devices. My mum used to give us chores: wash dishes, mop the floor, throw out garbage, laundry, make your own bed, and we would try to weasel our way out of doing them.

As I ate my dose of Idul Fitri food (as the local Malay Singaporeans have them, courtesy of S' mother), I couldn't help thinking of my people back home. My mum without the maid. The ketupat and sambal goreng. My brother avoiding to take out the trash (... yes, he still does it). For the first time since I moved here, I kinda miss home.