Mudik: A Spiritual Journey to Home

I took one last look at my office desk, a ritual repeated annually over the years. Piles of documents were gone. My desk drawers were neatly arranged. There was no pending letters. Nothing seemed gone amiss, and out of place. Listening to Michael Bubble’s song “Home”, I rummaged through my desk drawers once again where I used to put my stuffs at random. I had the urge to really make sure that I had clean and organized drawers before my absence. I sighed in relief and grinned widely, feeling satisfied.  Yeah, I guess I am ready to take my leave and depart for my hometown tomorrow. Let’s go Mudik!   

“And I’m surrounded by

A million people I

Still feel all alone

Oh, let me go home

Oh, I miss you, you know”

MUDIK has a unique cultural phenomenon in Indonesia as with the Chinese New Year or Imlek for the Chinese. MUDIK is the term referred to the exodus of millions of people from the urban centers to the villages or hometowns in order to celebrate the Idul Fitri holiday with family and friends. This phenomenon has drawn a lot of attention from all circles; government agencies, politicians, economists, sociologists, cultural experts and so forth into a repetitive endless discussions and buzz. Government will be so occupied to arrange transportation and ensure safety of those participated in the cyclic phenomenon every year. It is required to safeguard and maintain an orderly flow of Mudik. Something amiss is NOT tolerated as Mudik becomes the national spotlight, “hajat nasional.” It is deemed ‘a sacred duty’ to establish a safe and smooth flow of Mudik participants. If something went wrong, critics and debacles will surely follow.

Like many other millions migrants in Jakarta, I will follow the annual tradition of “Mudik” to celebrate Idul Fitri at home, reuniting with my parents, families, old friends, and neighbors. We usually start packing our stuffs for this occasion within 2-3 days before Lebaran. It is a unique annual phenomenon in Indonesia. Most of the population in this nation takes part in this ritual procession.  Although I work and live in Jakarta, I don’t forget my roots. There’s always a feeling of alienation in this big crowded metropolis that impartially scars the heart. It’s like living among millions, yet you still feel so alone inside.  It feels like something’s lost when I left my hometown back then. Living a far from home is draining our soul. Thus, it needs recharging.

Mudik in its own strange ways, offers us, the migrant workers a way to rediscover ‘something that we had lost’. It is a way to recharge our battery, gear up us all again to start afresh and anew.  It is like seashore where we can throw our anchor, and stay on dock for awhile. It’s something we call ‘home’. For me, there’s always a longing to set these feet on the paddies fields, a small stream running on it, a sweet scent of crops harvested, soft green grass on my playing fields back home. Reminiscing my old days when I barefooted threaded along the paddy fields, and plucked the ripened rice, I would gaze upon the vast yellowish paddies laid in front of my eyes. Back then, I used to walk among these fields to reach my school on foot with my childhood friends.  I remember the smell of my mother’s cooking when I get home. I remember how I used to play hide and seek and play among the trees in my childhood.  It is an ache of yearning and belonging. Such feeling needs to be nurtured with soothing and tender care, emotions that can only be provided by this annual tradition of Mudik. It refills the empty gap within the heart. Like a spiritual treat of holy fasting month, it generates a new freshness, which instills us with new vigor when we return to work in Jakarta.  This is a moment we cherish so much and we don’t want to miss ‘the thing.’

To satiate the hunger for such feelings, millions of migrants especially from Jakarta, drive, scramble for train tickets, buses, plains, ships, travel even are willing to drive car or private motorcycle all-night long just to celebrate this special moment with their family.  Millions of migrants in Jakarta make long queues for train and bus tickets, jump into any overloaded transportation vehicles they can find and get stuck for hours in traffic jams. For four consecutive years, I got trapped for hours on my way home to Solo. We had to travel for more than 24 hours just to reach my town. At normal days, it would only take 8 hours by car. The sun was scorching during the day. It burnt you with thirst. Soft fresh drinks were just on the verge to nail us down for a sip. It’s an excruciating journey. Yet for us, all the pain and inconveniences is nothing compared to the feeling of the home-sweet-home. Once we set our feet at our doorsteps, those ordeals paid off. Often, the journey itself is becomes an interesting tale to tell to the families back home. It’s the calling for home. It’s the sweet victory we taste when we are able to hug our parents and families with such yearning. It is the spiritual recharge that keeps migrant workers to keep on going. It is the needs to revisit, rediscover, and reclaim that makes endure for another battleJ.

Before leaving, “Happy Eid Al- Mubarak 1433H, Minal Aidin Wal Faidzin” to my brothers and sisters!

 “And the angels celebrate the praises of their Lord, and pray for forgiveness for all beings on earth; Behold! Verily God is He, the Oft-forgiving, Most Merciful!” (Surah As-Syura:5)