Eid Al Fitr — the day where Muslims celebrate the end of the month long Ramadan. In my home country, Eid Al Fitr is widely celebrated. That includes a week’s (or more) worth of day off, hours of pilgrimage, and indulging in various home cooked food. Most importantly, it’s custom to visit families and distant relatives — this is also the reason for those extensive day offs. You start off the day with your nuclear family, followed by close relatives from your grandparents, then it branches out from there.
On the day where it should be the most heartwarming, my heart always feel the heaviest.
It is such an enigma, but I assume it’s because of the family gathering element to it. I used to have fond memories of this festive celebrations, but several bad events happened and stained these memories, which turned family gatherings to a bitter note. A conflicting thing, since inherently I’m a very homy person, and family is a part of home.
I kept on thinking, is this me growing up and realizing things that I experienced was too romanticized? Or is it because of the changes in dynamic, combined with a realization of what I have always wanted in a family, and seeing this discrepancy made me frustrated? I also thought, was it envy — seeing people around me able to enjoy family functions such as this one and regarding this as one of the highlights of their year?
Looking back to where I was a few years ago, where I was separated geographically from my family for thousands of kilometers and I had to celebrate Eid on my own. I remember thinking it’s weird that the loneliness I felt then did not feel foreign, because I have always felt that loneliness in the past couple of years, regardless of whether I was with my family or not. I just kept on doing what the custom demanded of me, but was I supposed to be more initiative or am I allowed to expect warm invitation from my surrounding?
Fortunately, things changed for the better and I got married.
Marriage — the holy matrimony between two people and two families. When we got married, I had an expectation that I will have a different perception about family gatherings, Eid being one of them. I was truly excited for having a new nuclear family, it felt like I could start over. With this excitement, we prepared and made plans.
But the universe had a different plan. Several weeks before the celebration, I had to undergo an emergency surgery for ectopic pregnancy, in which there was nothing else we could do other than to take it out for the sake of my safety. Apart from the fact the joy could have been multiplied by the possibility of a new life coming into the picture, I experienced it at the time when I thought I could finally start something afresh — it impacted me mentally and emotionally.
When the day arrived, as much as I tried to see all the silver lining connected to it, I couldn’t deny there was still a bit of a bitterness I felt. Having to miss out the start of a new chapter (well, perhaps only to delay it) while at the same time going through recovery wasn’t easy. I was once again reminded as humans, we can only plan to the best of our ability, and in the end, only God can determine whether that said plan was written for you or not. And maybe, God also asked me to reassess the values I had towards Eid.
As I reassure myself to try again next time, more than one thing, I move forward, since that is the thing we do in life. Even when you wish things can pause, life continues to play in front of your eyes. Best you can do is to, in your pace, go along with it.
I have yet to relive the Eid experience I once had, but if there’s one thing about Eid that I should never forget about — be grateful for what you have and don’t have.
Eid Mubarak to all my Muslim brothers and sisters — may we get the opportunity to experience it again next year.
