On the second day of Eid, as usual, my dad’s side of the family had a yearly ritual: going around for silaturahmi—visiting relatives to reconnect and ask for forgiveness. We always made a list of which houses to visit, and this year, our main destinations were my dad’s two younger brothers: Uncle Ryan and Uncle Didin. Uncle Ryan is the seventh child of my grandparents and lives in Batang. Meanwhile, Uncle Didin, the third child, lives in Pekajangan, still within Pekalongan City. Though both places are relatively close to each other, the trips can be pretty exhausting. Especially during Eid, when traffic is often thick enough to make you sigh in resignation. The house was already buzzing in the early morning. Mom was busy pacing around, checking bags, gift baskets, and snacks to bring along. Dad was outside prepping the car, occasionally calling me out to help. And me? I was still lounging in the living room, scrolling through my phone, trying to catch the right vibes for the day—typical me, haha. But once everything was ready, we set off around 10 a.m.
The weather was perfect that morning. The sky was a bright blue with barely a cloud in sight, and the sun was shining just enough without being too hot. Along the road, we passed by many motorcycles and cars. And most of them clearly filled with families on similar visiting missions. It was heartwarming to see kids in bright new Eid clothes, beaming and waving from inside their cars. The whole scene was undeniably festive: vibrant, warm, and filled with hope. The drive to Batang usually takes about 20 minutes, but due to the holiday traffic, we moved a bit slower than usual. Along the way, I gazed at the houses we passed. Many were decorated with blinking lights or banners that read “Mohon Maaf Lahir dan Batin”—a traditional Eid greeting. Some mosques still played soft takbir from their speakers, giving the day an extra touch of spiritual serenity.
When we finally arrived at Uncle Ryan’s house, we were greeted with big smiles and warm hugs. His wife came out to welcome us too. The house was lively, buzzing with chatter and laughter. After the round of Eid greetings and asking forgiveness, we stepped into the living room which was already set with jars of cookies, refreshing drinks, and traditional Eid snacks. I talked a lot with his wife about the story of our college. At first she asked about how my college period was fun, of course I answered very enthusiastically because college was indeed very fun. Then she also told how when she was still in college and went to various cities with her friends. I was very amazed by what she said, at that time when technology was still not as advanced as it is now, she could travel around various cities with just a motorcycle, it was amazing. And Aunt Widya advised, while we can go to college, please find a lot of valuable experience. Especially with friends, because later the experience will be difficult to repeat because of each other’s busyness, so play often with friends in the rest of this college time. Yes, that’s advice that I will remember because I am so happy if someone supports me to play with my friends, hehe.
It’s been a little while since we have talked and it does not feel like our stomachs have started to get hungry. Uncle Ryan grinned and said, “Hey, you love meatballs, right? Come with me to get some. Let’s eat together!”. I lit up instantly. “Absolutely, Uncle! I never say no to bakso!”. So, off we went to his favorite bakso (meatball) stall, which he claimed was legendary in the area. But to our surprise, when we arrived, the line was incredibly long—like, humanitarian aid-level long. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Looks like everyone had the same idea today,” he said with a chuckle.
While waiting, we had a casual conversation. Uncle Ryan shared stories about his childhood, and some about my dad’s, too. He told me how they used to play in the river, catch fish with their bare hands, and come home covered in mud. I laughed imagining my dad, who is now always neat and disciplined, being a mischievous and a adventurous kid. After nearly half an hour, we finally got our bowls of bakso. The aroma of the savoury broth made my stomach growl. We brought the food back to the house and ate together with everyone. The room filled with laughter and clinking spoons. Sometimes, simple moments like eating meatballs with family can leave the deepest impression.
After finishing our meal and chatting about everything from childhood memories to upcoming vacation plans, we said our goodbyes and continued our journey to Uncle Didin’s house. This time, the trip took a bit longer due to heavier traffic. The car moved slowly through the crowd of people and vehicles. From the car window, I noticed people bustling about. Some carried groceries from traditional markets selling Eid delicacies like ketupat and opor ayam. Others hurried toward nearby mosques, probably to perform post-Eid prayers. The slow pace, warm car interior, and full stomach made me feel drowsy. Outside, the previously sunny sky began to turn gray, thick clouds rolling in low. A cool breeze crept in through the slightly opened window. It looked like rain was on its way.
When we reached Uncle Didin’s house, the atmosphere felt noticeably different. It was quieter, more serene, but no less warm. We were greeted with smiles and tender hugs. The house was smaller than Uncle Ryan’s but incredibly cozy, with modest furniture arranged neatly and tastefully. As soon as we entered, we were served warm tea and Eid pastries. The scent of the tea was comforting, perfect after the long drive. I sat on a soft, dark brown sofa, sipping tea while watching the rain start to drizzle through the window. The sound of rain hitting the tin roof added a peaceful rhythm to the room. The TV was on, playing a lighthearted Eid comedy that made everyone chuckle now and then, despite the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. My dad and Uncle Didin sat in a corner, talking softly and reminiscing about their youth, occasionally laughing at old jokes. I stayed on the sofa, wrapped in warmth, sipping my tea, enjoying the mellow vibe. We didn’t talk much there. Most of the time, we just sat together in silence, enjoying each other’s company. And honestly, that kind of quiet togetherness was just as meaningful as words. Just being present was enough.
At some point, I dozed off. The combination of the gentle rain, the soft couch, the lingering scent of tea, and the calm atmosphere was too relaxing to resist. I did not sleep long, but it was one of the most peaceful naps I have had in a while. When I woke up, the sky outside was already turning dark. The rain had slowed, now only a soft drizzle. It was time to go home. Uncle Didin and his wife walked us to the front door with umbrellas, and we exchanged one last round of hugs before heading out. The drive back was quiet. I sat in the car, watching the rain-speckled windows and the blurred streetlights reflecting off the wet road. The world outside was still and dim, but inside, my heart was full. Tired? Absolutely. But content? More than anything.
Once we got home, I flopped onto my bed, body sore like I would just done a workout but I couldn’t stop smiling. This second day of Eid might seem ordinary to some. Just a day of visiting, eating, and chatting. But to me, it was something special. It was a day filled with little moments that left a big mark. Laughing over old stories, eating hot bakso after waiting in line, sharing tea while rain fell outside, even the quiet nap on a stranger’s sofa—each of them stitched together into a memory that I will carry for a long time. Happiness does not always come from lavish vacations or grand events. Sometimes, it is in the little things: being surrounded by loved ones, talking heart to-heart, checking in on each other’s lives. That alone can make your heart feel full. And more than anything, that day reminded me of one simple truth: family is our true home. No matter where life takes us or how chaotic the world becomes, family is where we return to our quiet harbour in the storm.
The next morning, I woke up with renewed energy. The warmth of yesterday still lingered, and I felt closer to my family than ever. Every laugh, every shared story had become part of the thread that binds us together, a thread that time can’t easily unravel. That day inspired me to create more moments like that. I began planning another family gathering or a picnic, maybe, or an afternoon playing traditional games in the backyard. Anything to relive the joy of simply being together. In this life full of uncertainties, one thing is clear to me now, togetherness is our most precious treasure. It is a blessing we must nurture and hold onto, for it is in these quiet, simple connections that we find life’s truest joy.
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