Aida Zabidi
It is the first time in awhile that I have been afforded the privilege of an extended Eid. 

I aa Johorean and the traditions run deep. I am here re-learning how to weave the traditional ketupat, the same way that I have to be taught again every year - although it seems as if every year I learn a little bit faster. 

I wonder if it is a tradition we will continue when my grandmother is no longer here, when the family home in Muar loses the matriach of the family. 

All my life this is where we have celebrated Eid, our close knit family - with all my mother's siblings and their spouses and children. I don't know how we've managed to do it, but the majority of the time, almost everyone makes it back to Muar. It was something that I always looked forward to - being surrounded by cousins who I loved but rarely had the opportunity to spend time together the way we did in kampung, with the ties to our past and our heritage binding us to each other, but growing to like each other by our own choice. 

We follow the tradition every year. 

From the kenduri that we host for the villagers after solat raya, to our family's own session of seeking forgiveness from each other. To the graves that we visit as our grandmother reminds us of our departed family members and the prayers that we recite to remind ourselves that we too will return to the earth one day. To the relatives that we visit, almost in the same sequence every year, while my grandmother would discuss the latest news of who was dead and who was still living. 

We would always be back at our own house by 2 or 3, where most of the cousins would take a nap while guests would trickle in. The same traditions, right up till night, where we would light fireworks and band together in the night. 

My Eid is so closely tied to the traditions that we follow, and I am reminded of my heritage and history through the tellings of the tales. 

I suck at weaving ketupat - but I am Johorean, and I will learn these traditions.
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