YESTERDAY, Malaysia celebrated Merdeka. The flags flew. The marching was done. The costumes came out. The dancers counted their beats. Aircraft painted the sky. Faces were transformed into walking declarations of patriotism.
And, naturally, Malaysia did what Malaysia does best – celebrated loudly, colourfully and with enough Jalur Gemilang flying around to make the whole country look like it had entered a national-level decorating competition.
And why not? There is nothing wrong with loving your country loudly. We should have that little dollop of patriotism – perhaps even a generous serving. No need to malu-malu. Merdeka only comes once a year, after all.
But today, after the parades are over, the music has quietened and the flags begin returning to their usual places, there is another reality we cannot simply pack away with the bunting. Some Malaysian families are still waiting. More than 80 Malaysians remain uncontactable following the devastating disaster as inland tsunami slammed into the Rasuwa district in Nepal.
Malaysia’s Foreign Ministry has said 55 Malaysians in Nepal and 36 in China were uncontactable as of Sunday while rescue operations continue. Over 3,000 people have been reported unaccounted for so far. Behind those numbers are names. And behind every name is a family, a mother, a father, a child, a sibling and a friend.
People who left home expecting, as people do, to return. Then the messages stopped. The calls would not connect. The WhatsApp remained painfully quiet. And somewhere in Malaysia, somebody checked the phone again. Perhaps they are still checking it today.
Yesterday, while we celebrated independence, they were waiting for news. Today, while the rest of us return to work, errands, traffic jams, nasi lemak and the ordinary machinery of Malaysian life, they are still waiting.
And perhaps that is why the day after Merdeka deserves its own moment of reflection. Because patriotism isn’t only what we display when everyone is watching. We can still be gloriously Malaysian – noisy, colourful, slightly chaotic and proudly over-the-top. We did that yesterday. And good for us.
We sang. We danced. We marched. We waved our flags. We celebrated the freedom we inherited. But today, perhaps, we can also pause. Because sometimes patriotism is much quieter.
Sometimes it is the ache of: “Anak aku belum balik.”
Sometimes it is checking the phone again. Sometimes it is a family sitting together, praying for a knock on the door or a call carrying the words they desperately want to hear.
Sometimes it is simply refusing to forget that every number in a news report represents somebody’s person.
And honestly? That is where the soul of Merdeka lives. Not merely in the celebration of the country we inherited but in the care we show for the people who make that country worth loving.
The Jalur Gemilang is more than fabric; it represents people. The Malaysians who came home yesterday. The Malaysians who are still abroad. The Malaysians who are celebrating. And the Malaysians whose families cannot yet celebrate because someone they love has not been heard from.
So yes, yesterday was for celebration. Yesterday was for the flags, the planes, the songs and the children dancing. But today? Today is also for remembering. For the families waiting. For the rescuers searching. For those still uncontactable. For hope.
May every search bring another clue. May every rescue effort bring someone home. May every anxious family receive the news they are praying for. And may those still missing know that they have not simply become numbers on a screen; they are our people. Their families are our people.
And while the rest of us return to ordinary life, their wait continues. Perhaps that is the quiet lesson after all the Merdeka noise has faded.
Independence is not merely the freedom to wave a flag. It is also the responsibility to care about the people represented by that flag.
Yesterday, Malaysia celebrated being free. Today, let Malaysia remember what it means to belong to one another. Because the fireworks have gone. The parade is over. The flags will eventually come down. But somewhere, a phone is still being checked. A family is still waiting.
And perhaps the most Malaysian thing we can say today is simply: “They are our people. Their families are waiting. And we are waiting with them.”
That, sayang, is patriotism. Not the loudest kind. Perhaps the deepest kind. Merdeka, with a soul.
Azura Abas is the executive editor of theSun. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com
