My short story

My first Hari Raya


I wasn’t ready. But Hussein’s car had already took a finally turn to a lane that was as wide as a four-wheel vehicle. In just a few minutes Hussein’s parent’s house will be in sight.
Immediately there were a couple of long-legged wooden houses greeted us. Children were running around the front yard by only wearing a short pant, revealing their golden brown skin.
It was a beautiful morning, the sky was cleared. I rolled down the window to sooth myself in the sweetness of the fresh air. There were various types of tree surrounded us. The shining green colour of the plants, insects were emitting the ‘klik-klik’ sounds somewhere in the bush, with the singings of birds, they were composing the songs of the peaceful nature that would never exits in the city.
Yet, it’s failed to charm my edginess.
“Still nervous?” said my newly wed husband.
I shifted my attention from the view outside gave him an innocent shrug.
Of course! What do you expect?
“Just be yourself,” said Hussein as he squeezed my hand lightly.
Easy for you to say.
Already from afar, we could see Hussein’s sisters were busy with a few gigantic cooking pots on top of the fire with smokes that blurred the view of the wooden house – my in-laws house.
I took what look like a deep breath, and wiping my sweaty palms on my laps.

“Balik kampong?” I was struck-dumb.
“Uhuh,” Hussein murmured as he was nonchalantly munching the fried chicken drumstick.
“Is that means that all you relatives will be there?” I just lost the taste of the mouthful of rice inside my mouth.
“Of course,” as though he couldn’t wait for the chicken to swallow, he was already stuffing his mouth with another spoonful of rice.
“Okay.”
“What okay? I was asking when shall we balik kampong?” finally, my husband looked up at me.
Suddenly, his eyes sparked, revealing his boyish, mischievous smile.
“Are you feeling scare?” he smirked at me.
“Of course NOT,” I glared at him and continued with the rest of the meal.
Just nervous, that’s all.
I whispered to myself.
It would be my first Hari Raya celebration after our four months marriage. Socializing with stranger was definitely out of questions for me. Worst, my knowledge about Hussein’s cultures had put to a test, in front of his relatives and his family again, four months after the wedding.
You can run, but you cannot hide
I sighed hard upon the thought. The faces of Hussein’s parent and the vague pictures of his relatives made my palms sweat. Fully aware of my clumsiness, I was secretly doing my ‘rehearsal’ in the bathroom, at least twice a day.
But it didn’t help a bit.

Hussein who had witnessed that I was ignoring one of his five aunties calling me, Fatimah, until finally she came and tapped my shoulder lightly, I jerked up and accidentally knock over the beverage in her hand. Everything happened at the same time, she gave out a little scream, the glass fell followed by an unusually loud noise and spilled the rest of the drinks on the floor.
The whole room paused with their eyes setting upon me and my Auntie-in-law. I wanted to bend over to pick up the glass, but I was trapped in the baju kebaya that Hussein bought for me, making me almost impossible to even lower my back.
“I am so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, though she was smiling but her eyes was still scrutinizing her golden yellow baju kurung for any stains.
Aminah, Hussein’s second sister, rushed for my rescue. Soon, the room was back to normal chatting noises and children laughter, running around outside. The victim of my embarrassment was kind enough to pretend nothing had happened. She greeted me and I was asked to send regards to my parents.
Hussein goggled at me and shook his head slightly before turning his attention back to his cousin (I think), who was talking excitedly and waving his arms vigorously in the air.
How could I not hear when she was practically yelling my name?
When I saw Hussein’s reaction, I was even more agitated.
You told me to be myself!
Maybe that’s why I forgotten my own name just now.
I shook my head slightly to pull back my thought to the group of ladies that were chatting half way about their family, pretending there was nothing happened. (Aminah came back with second round of wiping the floor)

The environment around me was definitely different from what I had imagined. Well, at least most of it.
It was all well, when we had arrived. I followed Hussein lead, kissing my in-laws hands and asked for forgiveness.
“Selamat Hari Raya Maaf Zahir dan Batin,” as the eldest in the family, me and Hussein was the first couple to receive greetings from his nephews and nieces that already arrived. The warmth and friendliness of the family had given my confidence an extra boost.
But who would have thought, a couple of hours later, relatives from the whole country, guests from the neighbours starting to troop into our house.
“Assalamualaikum…”
“Waalaikumsalam…”
“Selamat Hari Raya Maaf Zahir dan Batin…”
Chorus of greetings were enchanting every corner of the house. Soon the whole house was teeming with family, neighbours and friends chatting happily with one another. Albeit some of them never knew each other until that day, still they would cordially exchange greetings and hand shakes.
The house was decorated with the shimmering coloured papers and there are some fake “ketupat” made of green and yellow ribbons, tangling on the ceiling. It was a humid day. There were two table fans which were spinning with maximum speed yet seemed like failed to do their duty. I was sitting with a younger group of relative. I felt my light blue silk blouse was drenched and sticking on my back. But the weather was none the comparison of the cheerful festival spirits within everybody that present. The sounds of laughter rose and fell like currents of waves.
Again, I pulled my thoughts back to the conversations that were going on in my group. One of the cousin was complaining that she is having headache about which school should she send her daughter to. She was holding a pink lacy hanky. Occasionally, she would gracefully use it to wipe off the sweat sliding down from her forehead.
“Auntie,” I gasped upon the sudden feeling of a small hand slipping inside mine. My sudden motion had, again, drawn some attention from the people stood near to me. I looked down, realizing that one of Hussein’s nephews, who had just arrived, was calling me, and I gave him both of my hand, which he kissed affectionately.
“Selamat Hari Raya Maaf ZAhir dan Batin,” he was wearing a visibly new pink shirt, which I presumed, purposely bought for Hari Raya. With the over-size black songkok on his head, there were dimples on both side of his chubby face when he smiled.
Realizing that I had forgotten something, I stretch my hand inside my purse and fished out a green, small envelope. His little eye sparked with the sight of it and opened both of his small hand widely and extending his arms as close as he could to my hand that was holding the envelope.
I smiled, turned my face slightly and pointed on my left cheek. He hesitated for a while and blushed. In a flash, he gave me a light kiss before hopping away with the green envelope in his hand.
Somebody giggled from behind, I looked back. It was my mother-in-law, elegantly dressed up in silky blue baju kurung.
“Mak,” I smiled and lowered down my face, feeling a warmth sensation on my face.
“With that kiss, you are now officially part of our family, whether you like it or not,” said my mother-in-law, helplessly trying to hide the smiling face. Aminah who came back with a wet cloth to do the finally cleaning up my mess, and the ladies that gathered around me were laughing. This time I managed to distract the attention of that colourful male group.

“Time to eat,” said Aminah to our group with a wide grin.
Slowly, everyone gathered outside the wide open-aired balcony, on the east side of the house which was surrounded with coconut, durian trees and even pineapple plants on one corner. The mini chicken barn stood a little distance away, with the ubiquitous chicken walking freely around the yard. The mouth-watering aromas of steaming tomato rice and curries were wafting in the warm and humid air. The guests were astonished with three round tables full of food, with round flora printed plates aligning neatly at the edge of the tables.
Hussein was now stood beside me. We were invited by my father-in-law to sit at the same table with the rest of the family members.
There were varieties of curries, ranging from fish, chicken and beef. Besides lemang (bamboo rice), there was also a plate of real “ketupat” rice that were already been cut into four, revealing the snowy white rice stuffed inside the coconut leaves.
Aminah with her other two sister approached the tables each with the orange, steaming tomato rice pot in hand. Then skilfully, she topped everybody’s plate with the delicious tomato rice.
“Makan, makan (eat, eat),” said my mother-in-law.
Hussein helped himself with the chicken curry; he scooped a piece of chicken and put it on my plate.
His sisters came back again and sat down beside me. Ali (Hussein’s youngest brother) lowered himself beside her after shifting the table fan to the balcony. I waited for my in-laws started eating, before I started working on my plate. It not that I had never tried to use my finger before, but this time I was being extra mindful with the whole procedure of my finger sank into the rice, scooping up a mouthful and putting them in my mouth.
Both people beside me were giggling. I looked up; realizing my exaggerating movements had somehow drew attentions from the people sitting at the same table.
“Er..hmm.”
“Would you like to have a satay,” said my mother-in-law, after clearing her throat to better hide her smile and immediately passed me a plate of satay closest to her.
I nod and received it from her hand, pretending never noticed yet another embarrassing atmosphere that was surrounding me.
Despite all that, I had a wonderful meal, I felt my new dress got tighter as I stood up and left to the living room with Hussein after Aminah rejected my offer to help cleaning up the left-over.
After the guests had settled down in the kitchen, we were served with varieties of cakes in different sizes and shapes. I spotted the chocolate chips cookies that my mom’s specially made and asked me to bring along.
It wasn’t until dusk that the guests started to leave, gradually, after thanking the hosts again and again for their warmth hospitality.
As we were escorting the last guest to the doorstep, Hussein stood beside gave me a light push with his elbow, I glanced up, and he winked.

My turn is over, now we shall see how you perform for the next year, Chinese New Year.
I tipped my chin triumphantly and walk away, picturing in my head, my nervous looking husband, standing at the middle of the crowd with my eight aunties and four uncles, each with their family… Somehow the thought had dwarfed all the embarrassments that I had gone through today.
I grinned widely with myself.