The crescent was up, shrouded with haze.

Appropriate, no?

The carpets are laid, the floor is swept, the rooms are painted, the sister's hair is rebonded, the clothes are bought, the bak chang (or whatever) is cooked, the kueh is laid on the table. The die is cast.

The folks will make me wear that purple baju kurung, that uncomfortable samping and a happy look on my face. I'm going to ask for their forgiveness, and they'll give it.

There'll be the usual family gathering for my Dad's side, I hear at Fizah's house? Maybe the aunts and uncles will forget Singapore Idol. Or my Dad won't tell them about my radio boo-boo. There'll be merry-making. There'll be gossiping. The twins' cheeks will be pinched till they get nice and rosy. And I'll go give Nenek a hug. When no one's watching.

Same old, same old. That can't be a bad thing, can it?

Selamat Hari Raya, everyone.