Let me confess: I loathe the office family day. I attended once – a grim exercise in corporate box-ticking. One hundred souls milling about, plastic smiles pasted on, while the bosses undoubtedly tallied their “99% Attendance!” trophy. The food? Forgettable filler. The “telematches” and forced ‘acara padang’? My personal version of purgatory. I was there solely to show my face, a reluctant extra in a pageant of enforced jollity.
This aversion isn’t reserved for the corporate charade. Class reunions? Pass. Unless it’s a manageable ten or below twenty catching up over tehtarik at the local mamak, count me out. Beyond that intimate circle, restlessness sets in, boredom gnaws, and the small talk feels thinner than the roti canai. It’s not misanthropy; it’s a distinct discomfort with the sprawling, unstructured chaos of large groups.
Family gatherings occupy a complex middle ground. It’s a cherished Malay tradition, these reunions, and I acknowledge their importance. The food, thankfully, is invariably superior to the sad spreads at office events – a crucial redeeming factor! I can tolerate, sometimes even find moments of genuine warmth within, gatherings of 30 to 40 relatives. A wedding? Absolutely, I’ll be there with a sincere smile. But the massive 100+ clan assemblies? The sheer scale overwhelms. The noise, the competing conversations, the obligation to circulate… it drains me.
The truth is, I simply don’t thrive in the big group dynamic. It doesn’t mean I dislike people or mixing. It means meaningful connection for me happens in smaller doses, quieter corners, with space for actual conversation, not just shouted pleasantries over a din. The mamak session works because it’s focused, relaxed, and authentic. The wedding works because there’s a clear purpose, structure, and shared joy.
Then came the lockdowns. Those long stretches of quiet, of necessary solitude, were unexpectedly clarifying. The constant pressure to be “on,” to perform sociability in large settings, evaporated. And in that silence, a realisation crystallised: I didn’t miss the big gatherings. Not one bit. What I craved, what I chose to miss, were the close friends, the immediate family, the deep one-on-one chats. The lockdown didn’t create my aversion; it amplified it, validated it, and gave me permission to honour it without apology.
Emerging into the post-pandemic world, the noise of large gatherings feels louder, the obligation heavier. I understand their purpose for others – the bonding, the tradition, the collective energy. But for me? They are exercises in endurance, not enjoyment. The performative aspect of the office family day is laid bare. The fatigue of the massive family reunion is undeniable.
So, I’ve become more selective. I embrace the small mamak meet-ups. I cherish the manageable family kenduri. I celebrate weddings with genuine pleasure. But the sprawling, obligatory mass gatherings? You’ll likely find my RSVP politely declined. I’ve learned, profoundly since the world paused, that my social battery is precious. I choose to spend its charge not on the loud spectacle of the crowd, but on the quieter, richer connections found in its smaller corners. It’s not isolation; it’s intentional connection, on terms that don’t leave me counting minutes until escape. And frankly, that’s a liberation worth savouring.
www.farizal.com (Social Distancing Practitioner 🤣)
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