March came and went quickly – and it was an especially hot and humid month here in the Klang Valley, as Muslims observed Ramadan.
As always, it went by in the blink of an eye as we immersed ourselves in renewing our faith, deepening our worship, and purifying our souls.
Ramadan is also a time for giving. Acts of charity are not only encouraged, they are foundational. From distributing food baskets to zakat fitrah, these acts remind us of our shared humanity, especially when so many around the world are struggling.
While it is bittersweet to bid farewell to Ramadan, Eid is always welcomed with joy. Yet this year, the celebration came with mixed emotions, as many of us couldn’t help but think of the suffering of our brothers and sisters in Gaza.
Like every year, Muslims in Malaysia take pride in their balik kampung tradition for Eid or Hari Raya. The first day usually begins with a morning prayer at the mosque, followed by seeking forgiveness from family and friends, and visiting the graves of loved ones.
The spirit of ‘open house’ fills the month of Syawal, as friends and families exchange visits – often with excessive helpings of ketupat, rendang, and lemang.
For as long as I can remember, Eid meant going back to Kota Bharu – my parents’ home, my sanctuary away from the madness of Kuala Lumpur. Though the balik kampung traffic was its own kind of madness, it was always part of the excitement.
When my father fell ill and eventually passed in 2018, followed by the quiet Covid years, that tradition paused.
In our Kelantanese household, Eid morning would begin with a forgiveness ritual among family members before indulging in festive staples like lamb kuzi and nasi dagang. But things slowly began to change.
No one talks about how hard it is when Raya traditions begin to fade – when loved ones pass on, when elders grow frail, and when the younger generation moves abroad or becomes swept up in their own journeys.
The laughter softens, the dishes dwindle, and the house feels quieter. You miss the sound of little feet, the silly chatter of cousins, and the cheerful interruptions from the neighbourhood kids – familiar strangers just there for duit raya!
Fireworks – especially the iconic ‘KLCC-style’ ones with a hundred shots – used to light up our nights in Kelantan.
The cousins would gather for sleepovers, giggling through the silliest Malay comedies or timeless P. Ramlee classics.
And of course, we’d all look forward to those emotionally charged Raya ads that played on our living room screen – fewer in number, but richer in meaning than what we see today.
Eventually, I took it upon myself to recreate some of those traditions – cooking a few beloved dishes, aided by modern appliances. But even with the convenience of technology, nothing quite compares to the magic of a mother’s or grandmother’s touch.
Some traditions I insist on keeping alive – like giving duit raya in physical packets, even in an age of online transfers. My four-year-old niece would agree!
Others have faded with time, but I do what I can to carry fragments of them forward. It’s my way of preserving the magic – so the next generation, too, can feel the warmth, wonder, and meaning of Eid.
Eid now brings mixed emotions – a blend of nostalgia, gratitude, and reflection. But I’ve learned that traditions aren’t just about replicating the past. They’re about creating new meaning while honouring the old. Because if we don’t, the ones we love today may never get to make their memories tomorrow.
In many ways, it’s a lesson in leadership, too.
When new leaders step in, there’s often a rush to make changes, to leave a mark. That’s understandable. Every leader wants to build a legacy. But in doing so, some overlook the value of what came before. In conversations with young leaders, I often sense quiet frustration – the feeling that the past is dismissed too easily.
A more grounded approach is to pause, reflect, and appreciate the legacy that preceded us. Understanding what worked – and what didn’t – offers deep insight into an organisation’s culture, decisions, and direction.
During a few open houses this Syawal, a group of former C-suites – some now board members – and I reflected on value-based leadership. We acknowledged that while metrics like revenue growth and KPIs matter, they are rarely what move us most.
One senior leader shared, “Choosing to do what’s right – especially when it’s difficult or unpopular – often feels like a leap of faith. But when we lead with integrity, the rest will follow. Because goodness inspires trust, and trust builds lasting impact.” That struck a chord.
When asked what brings the greatest fulfilment, many leaders said it wasn’t the deals or dashboards – it was the people. The teams they built. The talent they nurtured. The culture they helped shape. And that’s the heart of value-based leadership: putting people, values, and purpose at the core of how we lead.
Just like with Raya traditions, the challenge is not in preserving every detail, but in honouring the essence, so that something meaningful endures. Not everything old is outdated. Not everything new is necessarily better.
True leadership – like true tradition – lies in knowing what to preserve, what to evolve, and how to lead with heart.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not necessarily represent that of Twentytwo13.
