The (rather lonely and vulnerable) sight of five praying mats, arranged in proper position, in my living room this morning. Every other year my family and I would perform the Eid prayer at the tennis court next to our house, along with other people who happen to live close by (read: neighbors). The fact that this year, because of the pandemic, people are forced to perform the mandatory Eid prayer on their own will be remembered forever.
The sight of my big family in 720p. We had a short Zoom conference this morning in lieu of the annual 'salam-salaman'.
The unusually quiet queue for the Eid dishes my mom spent three days preparing. They all taste very good though, like usual.
Honestly new clothes for Eid is the last thing someone should be worrying about in unthinkable times like this (and I really am glad that I didn't even think about it) but spending the first day of Eid in your pajamas is quite something. It's bizarrely nice. I like it though, I like eating opor and watching the television in shorts and ratty T-shirt.
The sound of my dad's voice cracking as he wrapped up his handwritten khutbah, praying for his wife, for his kids, for his family, his parents, asking for help and acceptance. And the small choke that managed to slip from the back of my throat, willing myself not to cry because I couldn't stand both seeing or let alone hearing my parents cry and crying myself.
I like this year's Ramadhan just fine after all, I have everything served in a silver platter right in front of me so there is nothing I should complain about. But I really really don't want a repeat of this, thank you.
Happy Eid Al Fitr everyone.
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