As well as bonding with others, especially with family, this month is also a time for sharing, asking for, and granting forgiveness. This year's Raya for Ibu won't be the same without Ayah by her side. Is Ibu capable of decorating the house, making rendang, and changing the drapes by herself? Do you believe Ibu will be able to withstand the heartache? The loneliness? Read this short story 'Stuck in Raya' to find out more!
Raya celebrations are synonymous with having your family members united in one house, all dressed in lovely baju kurung and baju melayu, and eating the delectable meals that were made together over several days while pleading for forgiveness and, of course, receiving duit raya. It is the same for my family; my children will return home in a few days with their kids to celebrate Raya with me. The only thing that is different this year is that Ayah isn't here. I couldn't help but think back on all the times we'd celebrated Raya together as I wandered around the large, empty kampung home. Are you up there, Ayah, watching me? Can you feel the anticipation for Raya permeating the air? I'm gradually putting down all the Raya decorations and beginning to clean the house, but without you here, it won't feel the same. Who will help me mow the lawn, sweep the ceiling, and stroll with me? Now that you are gone, I am working alone while your ghost and your memories follow me about, giving the place a more lively appearance than it actually has.
I was roused from a sound sleep in the morning by the sound of a rooster crowing. A soft sigh escapes my mouth as I turn to face the empty side of the bed next to me. “Good morning, Ayah," I say as I kiss my palm and gently press it on the pillow, his favorite pillow. It has been a year without Ayah — a year without the one who sets my heart on fire when it’s cold and rainy outside. I glance at the clock and a picture in the frame on the nightstand before my lips automatically form a smile. This photo of my family was taken during Raya last year. I still recall how chaotic things were when we discovered that Raya had fallen a day early. While Adik was packing her belongings and Kak Long continued to work with her children on cookie baking, Kak Ngah was at Jalan TAR finishing up last-minute shopping. Meanwhile, Ayah and I were making ketupat. That evening, we were in a rush and extremely busy preparing lontong for Adik, Kak Ngah's absolute favorite dish, extra-spicy kuah kacang, and Along's favorite beef rendang. We spent the entire night video-chatting with the three of them so that we could all celebrate Malam Raya together. No sleep whatsoever was had by either of us. The kids kept telling me, “Ibu, Ayah, you guys need to sleep and rest. Both of you look tired.” Ayah and I were both so worn out, but it was all worthwhile. The following day, we celebrated Raya in accordance with our plan. An emotional salam session that lasted less than ten minutes was followed by a duit raya and gift-exchanging session, and then a photo session. Every Raya, we perform these three sessions, and we will continue to do so.
It's hard to believe that we won't be celebrating Raya with you this year after remembering our last Raya celebration. The children begged me to move nearer Kuala Lumpur so I could be with them, but how can I do that when I am gradually forgetting the sound of your voice? My last remaining memory of you is this house, so how can I leave? I resisted leaving and made an effort to keep you in my mind so that I wouldn't feel so lonely. But this Raya, when the kids come back, it will not be different from all the other Raya celebrations we've had; it will be like you never left. I had sewed a pair of gorgeous matching baju melayu and baju kurung because blue is your favorite color and we hadn't worn it for Raya in a while. You had been pestering me to use the expensive plates you had bought me when we were young, but I finally gave in and took them down from the glass shelves. I had been keeping them locked away out of concern that something might happen to them, but this year we will be able to use them. Do you still remember the old radio that you were reluctant to throw away? In spite of my refusal to acknowledge it, you were correct. Your favorite music is now playing throughout the house after I finally found someone who could fix it. The radio continues to sound as good as the day you bought it.
Eleven o'clock in the morning, and takbir raya can be heard emanating from every nook and cranny of our home. It won't be long before the kids show up. I go to the kitchen and begin laying out the plates for the table. I heard cars approaching the yard and their engines roaring as I was about to sit down. My feet were carelessly dragging my body to the front door as my eyes wrinkled and I plastered a broad smile on my lips. As my daughters, my son-in-law, and my grandchildren got out of the cars, I was paralyzed and could not move. Kak Long has red, puffy eyes and a flushed face, and Kak Ngah and Adik are holding two empty jugs in their hands.Tears could be seen rolling down her cheeks. Why is my first baby crying? Is it because they went to visit Ayah before coming here? My grandchildren burst through the door with excitement and entered the house. “Abang, Adik, give Opah a hug-“ I failed to complete the sentence as I was taken aback by what just happened. They passed right through me and my body. “Kak Long? Kak Ngah? Adik?” My hand reaches out to touch Adik's shoulder, but it seems like she doesn't feel anything, and my voice cracks and my vision begins to blur as tears begin to pool in my eyes. It appears that I am invisible to them; I appear to be nothing more than a heartless memory that resides in this home and in their minds.
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