My issues with Raya.
I suppose I could write a long teary homesick post on not being home during Hari Raya so I thought I'd write about the things I don't miss (simply because I'm a little spiteful but humour me).
5. Baju Kurung. Okay, this one goes two ways. Some years you hit the nail on the head and the tailor delivers your baju, a perfect fit, lovely handiwork and best of all, flattering. To me, the baju kurung is at best, demure, traditional, graceful and to an extent, wearable art. At worst, it screams fashion victim, try-hard, bordering on the tent-like and worst of all - just a little too tight and/or just plain a little inappropriate. We've all fallen victim to the BK at some point in our lives. Whether it was the checked skirt+thai silk season which managed to incubate our bodies much like wearing an embroidered bin bag, or the boxy, just under the hip cut which, lets face it - only truely flatters the stick thin of the 14-16 year old variety. My worst crime I believe was during the cheongsam phase where I thought that the high collar and cheeky vertical slit just under the collar just so, was original and edgy like the 15 year old me. Little did I realise that the high collar did little to flatter my round face a la Rene Zellweger circa 2004 in Bridget Jones, and the vertical slit just looked like I had ripped my baju trying to get my face through the hole in the top.
4. Stress. This one comes in all forms.
The pre-raya stress, making sure the house looks nice, is the food ready? have we enough drinks? Maybe not, okay - go down to the shop and buy 6 more cartons of Soya Bean (that we will be drinking for the next 3 months)
The visiting stress. Do I look okay? Mum, which relative is this one again? Should I call them aunty or nini? Damn and blast these strappy shoes that go with this baju. I'm going to be hopping around on one foot outside their house for a good five minutes before I can come in. People! A chair would be handy!
The post-avalanche-of-people-I-don't-know stress. Quick! Tidy!
..and so on..
3. 'The bilatah' convo. Another one that comes in several forms that eventually grinds down your defenses so that by the end of the day you begin asking yourself 'those' questions.
The classic example for the 20 something, recently graduated, in a relationship:
Aunty X: Bah lai, bilatah?
Me: Bilatah?
Aunty X: (squeezes arm) Bila kahwin bah lai?
Me: *again with the e-heh noise* still young aunty..
Aunty X: Ehh inda jua. Next year kali you ni.
Me: Err.. balum abis Uni aunty... bila abis... kan cari keraja lagi.. (trying the career driven, spirited, brainy independent woman thing here)
Aunty X: Bwoh.. mana bulih ni lai baik lagi you (insert individual aunty's advice here)
You get the picture. Its harmless though as they mean no harm and are looking out for you.. until this happens:
Mum: Aunty X's son is your age kan?
BWOH! RUN! RUN WHILE YOU CAN!
2. Discussing point number 5. I'm not of the elite few who have that one tailor who makes fantastic baju every year. So year after year, I make the same mistakes - its too tight, its too big, its a hideous colour and the usual -what was I thinking?! Yet I see my cousins and immediate family float around in their lovely baju, in lovely material, with shoes and accessories to match while I flounder around in the back re-arranging my skirt as I realise that the fan is 'meant to go at the back'! *slap head* All the while I try and get clues for tailors and kain shops. This however, among the elite, are closely guarded secrets and seldom disclosed lest a hopeless bk-er like me discover the secret. So as we exchange our 'oh I love this brooch' and 'oooh your kain suits you so well', I'm left oohing and aahing with little feedback and vow yet again that I will not try and do anything 'origianal' next year.
1. This one, I think affects everyone. Overeating.
As you go around the circuit of houses and family you want to make enough room for food at everyone's house. Still, the system is flawed as you go to your aunty's house that makes the best rendang ever and help yourself to a generous portion. Twice. By the end of it, you're left bursting at the seams, and in some cases, smelling curiously like the acar/belacan spilt on your lap.
Ultimately, you're left feeling a little guilty for lack of self restraint, but with a gut full of teh/bandung/milo and rendang/laksa/kuih mor there is that moment you get home, mandi, change into your baju rumah, flop onto the couch and go
5. Baju Kurung. Okay, this one goes two ways. Some years you hit the nail on the head and the tailor delivers your baju, a perfect fit, lovely handiwork and best of all, flattering. To me, the baju kurung is at best, demure, traditional, graceful and to an extent, wearable art. At worst, it screams fashion victim, try-hard, bordering on the tent-like and worst of all - just a little too tight and/or just plain a little inappropriate. We've all fallen victim to the BK at some point in our lives. Whether it was the checked skirt+thai silk season which managed to incubate our bodies much like wearing an embroidered bin bag, or the boxy, just under the hip cut which, lets face it - only truely flatters the stick thin of the 14-16 year old variety. My worst crime I believe was during the cheongsam phase where I thought that the high collar and cheeky vertical slit just under the collar just so, was original and edgy like the 15 year old me. Little did I realise that the high collar did little to flatter my round face a la Rene Zellweger circa 2004 in Bridget Jones, and the vertical slit just looked like I had ripped my baju trying to get my face through the hole in the top.
4. Stress. This one comes in all forms.
The pre-raya stress, making sure the house looks nice, is the food ready? have we enough drinks? Maybe not, okay - go down to the shop and buy 6 more cartons of Soya Bean (that we will be drinking for the next 3 months)
The visiting stress. Do I look okay? Mum, which relative is this one again? Should I call them aunty or nini? Damn and blast these strappy shoes that go with this baju. I'm going to be hopping around on one foot outside their house for a good five minutes before I can come in. People! A chair would be handy!
The post-avalanche-of-people-I-don't-know stress. Quick! Tidy!
..and so on..
3. 'The bilatah' convo. Another one that comes in several forms that eventually grinds down your defenses so that by the end of the day you begin asking yourself 'those' questions.
The classic example for the 20 something, recently graduated, in a relationship:
Aunty X: Bah lai, bilatah?
Me: Bilatah?
Aunty X: (squeezes arm) Bila kahwin bah lai?
Me: *again with the e-heh noise* still young aunty..
Aunty X: Ehh inda jua. Next year kali you ni.
Me: Err.. balum abis Uni aunty... bila abis... kan cari keraja lagi.. (trying the career driven, spirited, brainy independent woman thing here)
Aunty X: Bwoh.. mana bulih ni lai baik lagi you (insert individual aunty's advice here)
You get the picture. Its harmless though as they mean no harm and are looking out for you.. until this happens:
Mum: Aunty X's son is your age kan?
BWOH! RUN! RUN WHILE YOU CAN!
2. Discussing point number 5. I'm not of the elite few who have that one tailor who makes fantastic baju every year. So year after year, I make the same mistakes - its too tight, its too big, its a hideous colour and the usual -what was I thinking?! Yet I see my cousins and immediate family float around in their lovely baju, in lovely material, with shoes and accessories to match while I flounder around in the back re-arranging my skirt as I realise that the fan is 'meant to go at the back'! *slap head* All the while I try and get clues for tailors and kain shops. This however, among the elite, are closely guarded secrets and seldom disclosed lest a hopeless bk-er like me discover the secret. So as we exchange our 'oh I love this brooch' and 'oooh your kain suits you so well', I'm left oohing and aahing with little feedback and vow yet again that I will not try and do anything 'origianal' next year.
1. This one, I think affects everyone. Overeating.
As you go around the circuit of houses and family you want to make enough room for food at everyone's house. Still, the system is flawed as you go to your aunty's house that makes the best rendang ever and help yourself to a generous portion. Twice. By the end of it, you're left bursting at the seams, and in some cases, smelling curiously like the acar/belacan spilt on your lap.
Ultimately, you're left feeling a little guilty for lack of self restraint, but with a gut full of teh/bandung/milo and rendang/laksa/kuih mor there is that moment you get home, mandi, change into your baju rumah, flop onto the couch and go
AAaaaaahhhhhhhhh..And do the same all over again tomorrow... have a good one folks. xxw
posted by Widarchitect at 8:43 pm
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