All the world in a single day
This story is dedicated for those who have lost their homes in this year’s Eid-ul Fitr
One of my earliest memories is that of setting the table, back then we had a 6 person table even though we were an 11 people family. It was packed and it didn’t have any room for us to eat, just enough to hold the food and let us sit while holding our meals with one hand. And that was my first remembrance of that day, even though it was only a short decade ago. And it seemed if there were days like that before, we could not remember it, or it might as well have not existed at all.
But there were of course, and our parents remember it, remember setting the table even though they knew that they should probably get a new table. And they remember holding up their plates because the remaining room on the table is kept for their parents. And they remember us not liking any of the meals they cooked because we did not like coconut milk and sticky cube shaped rice. But we learned to love them and we learned waiting a year to eat them, just as we learned to love that day every year.
In the old days I used to ask the same questions every year to my mother. “mom why can’t we eat until after the sun sets?” and she would answer “so we could understand how the less fortunate feels everyday.” But I didn’t understand that, why is it important to feel less fortunate for a month each year? So I asked again “so why can’t we get angry or cry too?” and she’d answer “so we can learn to restrain ourselves.” But that would just confuse me more because eating and getting angry are two different things.
As a kid I spent a lot of my time bothering my mother with these kind of questions. I’d ask them whilst she was cooking a meal for thirty even though we had already ordered takeouts for tonight’s dinner and suhoor. “These aren’t for us” She said, and after she was done cooking and packing up all the meals she’d ask me to deliver it to the mosque next door. “Go get some food while you’re at it, we don’t have enough takjil just yet.” After I got home, maybe sometime around 5 I’d open the fridge and stare at the bucket of KFC my mom ordered for dinner. And sometimes, on days when it felt too unbearable I would secretly nibble on the fallen bits of skin. Being hungry was always hard for me as a kid.
On the first Ramadhan after my grandfather passed, the house was knee deep in food. It seemed like grandma had tried to compensate the loss of one body in the dining table by replacing the empty seat with food and joy. When I asked her how we’re going to be spending Eid this year she said that it won’t be any different, just that we’d be visiting the grave first thing after Eid breakfast. I think she felt obliged to tell her husband that this year also, the kids were fed well and they had a great breakfast as always. That year we saw a record number of cookies lined up in the living room. And also a record number of sweet syrups in the fridge as grandma had made it a mission to try out every single flavor every time a syrup commercial made its way on TV.
Then in the Ramadhan after she passed away I asked my mother if there was going to be any cooking at Eid now that grandma is gone. She said of course there would be because grandma had passed down every one of her recipes to my mom and that is all that mattered. So in the breakfast that year we ate a joyous meal as always, and after that we went to the grave praying silently and my mom reported to grandma what kind of things she’s cooked this year. That year two spaces opened up in the dining table and we saved that spot for my mom’s sister and her husband, the two eldest in the house. And they sat on it with a kind of somber acceptance, while the rest of us kids still held up our plates throughout breakfast. That year I asked my mom the same question as always, but this time she answered “you’ll learn, in time.”
This year it is just the six of us, just us kids gathering around the house trying not to notice the glaring holes of five other people that are no longer here. Although no longer kids I guess, we sat with each other for Eid breakfast like we had done a dozen times before. But this time the space at the table has cleared up for us all to have a proper meal atop the table, no longer propping the plates with one hand. And even though we had a lot to grieve for this year, we still sat there laughing, because my mom had passed on to me every recipe our family had, and that was all that mattered. After breakfast we all headed to the grave and gave each of our reports of breakfast to our parents and grandparents. And after that I told my mom that I had my answer for my questions back then, those questions I asked before I learned the loneliness of human existence. I had understood that just as every meal is a blessing, being able to cry and rage is also a thing that we had taken for granted. I understood the loneliness of not being able to grieve during the day and I blessed the time of day that would allow me to do so.
I am telling this story to you, and putting this in writing to remind you that there were days like that. That not very long ago, the same you once sat on the table you set, ate the same meal, and shook some hands that may or may not be still here with us.
And even if the memory is too difficult to recall, I want to say that it was not too long ago. Not enough for you to grasp it by the tail and call it quits thinking that maybe that memory is already a lifetime away. And I’d like for you to remember also in the future, that there will be days like those. A split second time window of 24 hours in a year where the earth stood still. When your biggest concern is whether there’s enough food and cookies on the table for your family to each have seconds.
When it feels like all the world had been crammed into a single day. All the noise shushed out, all the problems left right there. And it felt like it was okay for kids to cry and be noisy, like it was okay to leave the rest of time on hold. Out there somewhere, someone had hit the pause button on earth’s remote control and pressed reset right after. But it was never the same movie each year, just the same day, same pause, same reset. And we never felt small that day because why would we? It felt like we had won, like an athlete making victory laps after their grueling race. After a run that felt like a year, we were exhausted, but we still had enough on the tank for a lap that lasted a day.
