Colored Boiled Eggs and Ajwa Dates: Braided Moments in COVID

My childhood was always a carousel of cultural and spiritual fusions.

During Ramadan, my mum would always make my favourite for the dawn meal: fried eggs, steamed rice and sweet soy sauce. My legs would sluggishly make their way over to the dining table, where I'd slowly adjust my eyes and try to make sense of the dish in front of me. I'd watch the clock tick towards the Fajr (morning break) time, and think of how I'd spend my day.

With our dry-mouth palates, on weekdays we'd continue the routine of school/work, and on weekends we'd put together nastar (an Indonesian pineapple sweet cake). Crescent shaped biscuits covered in what we called "snow" (or more commonly known as icing sugar) were always my favourite. Pitted Ajwa dates and soups were prepared as the sun fell towards the Earth. A small supplication, then a nimble and a sip .. and some more. Chit-chatter at the mosque or someone’s house all couped up fell silent at recitations for the evening prayer, with only the humdrum of children's cackles breaking the solitude. And the sweets we'd have afterwards. The communal happiness with Eid arriving. Then patiently waiting for the next Ramadan to come.

Saturday afternoon, many moons ago, with mum baking nastar

In the lead up to Orthodox Easter, my dad would prepare dyed Easter eggs. He would recount memories of his own childhood as the bubbles grew to water's boiling surface. A world where the communist Yugoslavia restricted dyeing easter eggs and any form of religion was forbidden. My grandma would dye them in secret, picking eggs on Holy Friday from the chickens out back just at the crisp of Spring. They lived in Aleksandrovac, the idyllic countryside of Serbia, where their secret actions kept the spirit of egg decoration and Christianity alive.

A sunflower field in Alesandrovac

"We have to make the first dyed egg red", my dad said, "the čuvarkuća, we keep this until next year". This first dyed egg was, and still is, set aside near the family icons for the entire year as the "gatekeeper" of the household. Come Easter Sunday, cracked egg shells from lost egg smashing battles laid on the white cotton embroidered tablecloth. We'd feast on fish and bread, devour chocolate bunnies and laze around the house with full bellies.

Once I moved to Singapore, the joyous households I woke up to on Eid and Easter have somewhat disappeared. All these moments were instead shared over video calls -- too often than not I'll yell out 'hey, prop me up on a table so I can see everyone!'. We'd take a quick photo. Reminisce on the Mina Bakery manoosh I'd have that morning now. Joke about how I'd win the egg cracking content (at least one out of three). Hope that next year I'll be there in person. Then I'd hang up, savour in the chocolate eggs I bought here and converse with the new family I'd made here in Singapore. I've create my own version of these special occasions here, leaning on the newfound community who have always been always so kind.

With Islam using a lunar calendar, every couple of years the two occasions happen to sit side by side. That very moment rolled around this year, with just 5 days between Orthodox Easter and the beginning of Ramadan. Although warm fuzzies (times two!) are always nice, these interweaving instances also happened to fall during a tumulus time (that I'm still trying to grapple with).

I'm not sure if I'm ready for this upcoming spiritual month. This whole self isolating situation hasn't exactly been amazing on my mental health. One moment it's fantastic, then the next it's all downhill. And suddenly I feel in control. This will undoubtedly be a different kind of Ramadan for many of us this year. Without the community. Without the chatter. With the isolation. But perhaps the mercy and blessing of this month is what's needed. It will bring new challenges, different ways to practice one's own beliefs.

Knowing myself, I'll adapt to the upcoming Ramadan ahead -- taking the change as it comes and accepting this new reality. With sacrifice, and inward reflection.

Ramadan begins at dawn tomorrow. The ruddy and rosy egg remains on the table. And I'll tug on my heart to help make it alright.