Image Credit: Copilot
By Phillip Das
Sometimes I wonder what it really means to be Malaysian.
Is it the place where we were born? Is it the passport we carry, the language we speak, or the flag we stand beneath?
Perhaps the answer is much simpler than we think. We can find it at our dining tables because food has a strange way of bringing people together.
A Malay family may sit down for dinner and suddenly crave Indian food. A plate of banana-leaf rice, perhaps, with its curries, vegetables and spices. A Chinese family may find themselves looking for nasi lemak, satay or rendang. An Indian family may wake up one morning wanting char kway teow, wanton noodles or a good bowl of laksa.
And none of this feels unusual to us because it is simply Malaysia.
We have grown up eating one another’s food without thinking about where it came from.
That is why, when any of us Malays, Chinese, Indians, Sabahans or Sarawakians leave Malaysia and live in another country, it does not take very long before we begin searching for something from home.
We may enjoy the food of the country we are visiting as we discover new tastes and different cuisines. But eventually, there comes a day when we begin looking for nasi lemak, roti canai, tosai, char kway teow or laksa.
Sometimes, we are not even looking for the best food. We are simply looking for something that tastes like home.
And when we finally find that little Malaysian restaurant somewhere in a foreign country, something happens. The first bite takes us home. Food does more than fill our stomachs. Sometimes, it carries our memories.
And perhaps that is where we begin to understand what it means to be Malaysian. We may speak different languages.
We may pray differently. We may follow different traditions. We may celebrate different festivals.
But somehow, our lives have crossed those boundaries. Our food has travelled from one home to another.
Our recipes have travelled from one grandmother to another. Our tastes have become intertwined.
We have learned to enjoy things that did not originate from our own culture. A Malay may have an Indian friend whose mother makes the best curry. A Chinese friend may know exactly where to find the best nasi lemak. An Indian family may have grown up eating noodles prepared by the Chinese uncle at the corner coffee shop. A Sabahan may introduce us to a dish we have never tasted before. A Sarawakian may tell us about food we never knew existed.
And before long, their food becomes something we also call our own. These things may seem unimportant, but they are the threads that have quietly held this country together. We often speak about unity as though it is something that must be created through speeches, policies and slogans.
But perhaps unity has already been growing around us for generations. It is in the food we eat. It is in the friends we make.
It is in the neighbours we greet.
It is in the festivals we share. It is in the open houses where people from different backgrounds sit together and eat. It is in the coffee shops where different languages can be heard at the same table.
It is in the simple Malaysian habit of asking someone, “Have you eaten?” Sudah makan?
Perhaps that question says more about us than we realise. Because we do not first ask what race you are. We ask whether you have eaten.
We may have different festivals, but we often know what is cooking in our neighbour’s kitchen. During Hari Raya, many of us look forward to the open houses. During Chinese New Year, we exchange greetings and share food. During Deepavali, doors are opened, and guests are welcomed. During Gawai and Kaamatan, we celebrate the richness of Sabah and Sarawak.
We may not celebrate every festival in the same way, but we have learned to be part of one another’s celebrations. That is something unique. Because if you think about it, we Malaysians have been borrowing from one another for generations.
We borrow recipes. We borrow words. We borrow customs. And perhaps, without realising it, we have also borrowed a little of one another’s lives.
We have become familiar with one another. Not because someone told us we had to. But because we grew up together. We laughed at the same jokes. We cheered for the same Malaysian teams, made up of people from different backgrounds.
We do not need to become the same to belong to the same country. Malaysia was never meant to be a place where everyone looked alike, prayed alike or lived alike. Our differences are part of our identity.
The beauty is that we have learned to live with those differences and, at our best, to enjoy them. So perhaps the next time we sit down to eat something that did not come from our own culture, we should pause for a moment. Because that plate of food may be telling us something.
That somewhere along the journey of this country, our lives have become connected. A little of one culture has entered another.
A little of one tradition has found its way into another home.
And perhaps that is what makes Malaysia different. We did not lose our individual identities. We added something to them.
So, why are we Malaysians? Maybe it is not simply because we were born here. Maybe it is because, over generations, this place has become part of us.
We come from different histories, different cultures, different faiths and different traditions. But somewhere along the way, we have become something more. We have become Malaysians.
And perhaps the simplest answer to the question, “Why are we Malaysians?” is this: We belong to one another.
Different roots. Different traditions. Different journeys. But One Home, One Country.
WE