THE time for our very Malaysian phenomenon of kongsi raya (overlap of Chinese New Year and Hari Raya festivities) is drawing near.
This year, the first day of Ramadan (fasting month) could be tomorrow, which is the second day of the Chinese New Year, or the day after.
This happens about once every 33 years as the Muslim lunar calendar is 10 to 11 days shorter than the Gregorian calendar.
The Chinese lunisolar calendar follows the moon, too, but one whole leap month is added every two to three years so that it is aligned with the sun.
This is why Chinese New Year always falls between late January and February.
I remember when the fasting month last coincided with the period of lion dance performances – sometime in the late 80s or early 90s.
My siblings and I were the only Muslim kids on our row of terraced houses in Tanjung Bungah.
I dearly remember Aunty Chu, our next door neighbour.
Before dawn, our household members were likely to be the only ones awake and my mother would prepare sahur (pre-dawn meal) for us all.
By mid-morning, lion dance drums shook the air, and many cars came to our street. The tradition of Chinese New Year house visits, called bai nian, were so much grander then.
“You puasa, ah?” (Are you fasting?) Aunty Chu would ask me this with audible concern in her voice.
I was a hungry, thirsty boy, yet I wanted to bear it like the grown-ups.
I remember the contrast: our neighbours celebrating and feasting while we patiently kept quiet.
My parents spoke to us about the difference, about keeping Islam in our hearts while embracing multiple cultures.
Aunty Chu came bearing lots of mandarin oranges and nian gao (kuih bakul or glutinous rice cakes) which I loved.
She would politely say they were to accompany our buka puasa (breaking of fast) meals.
When mum cooked her fantastic curries for buka puasa, she’d fill a large bowl with instructions for me to take it to Aunty Chu.
My siblings and I collected ang pow from every neighbour on the street – that was the best part.
Born and raised in a moderate Muslim family, I did not learn about cultural harmony from policy papers or national slogans.
I learned it as a boy observing Ramadan amid rows of red lanterns, lion dances and watching people in red outfits, while playing with firecrackers and eating mandarin oranges.
In the afternoons, while walking home from school, I would pass households celebrating Chinese New Year.
I held on and sustained my fast. They waved. I waved back. Sometimes I got an extra ang pow from visitors.
And there was pure happiness – in a very Malaysian way.
Some people might call Malaysia a melting pot, but that isn’t the case because it suggests that everything blends into one.
We are more like rojak.
On a plate of rojak, the cucumber, pineapple, jicama (sengkuang), tofu as well as blanched kangkung and beansprouts tossed in a sauce are individually distinct and can be tasted separately.
That year, my family fasted while Aunty Chu and her family celebrated. No problem.
We did not call it “interfaith understanding”. We did not need forums, workshops or talks. It was just a way of life.
Today, when discussions about identity, tolerance and coexistence surface, I think back to my primary schooldays.
As a child, I learned that faith does not require isolation, and celebration does not require exclusion.
This year, as Muslims start fasting, many Chinese folk will be celebrating their New Year.
Some Chinese observe a no-visiting policy on the third day while others seek out their close friends. It is fluid.
Hokkiens will have a blast on the ninth day as they celebrate the Jade Emperor’s birthday, while Muslims continue fasting.
On March 3, or Chap Goh Meh (literally, the 15th night of Chinese New Year), we can expect another big round of celebrations while we patiently bear the 13th night of Ramadan.
I feel happy to be a part of this cultural mix with all of us doing different things at the same time and always being together.
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