Back to My Hometown: A Night at the Mosque of Memories
Going back to my hometown always brings a mix of emotions with peace, nostalgia, and a hint of sadness. Last night, I had the chance to perform Terawikh at Masjid Sultanah Bahiyah, the mosque that has been part of my life since childhood.
This mosque is old, familiar, and full of memories. If you remember my story about my dad asking me to collect air halia, this is the very place where it happened. Back in those days, before Ramadhan started, my dad would always remind me, “Go to the mosque and get a jar of air halia.” And like the obedient (but slightly reluctant) kid I was, I would walk or cycle to the mosque with an empty jug, standing in line to collect the warm, spiced ginger drink that the mosque provided.
Years have passed, and the mosque still stands the same. The structure remains, the many pillars still dominate the space, but there have been a few changes, they’ve enclosed certain areas, and now, the mosque is equipped with air-conditioning.
Last night, as I waited for Terawikh to begin, I stood at the back, taking a moment to just look around and absorb the atmosphere. It felt surreal. So familiar, yet different.
I saw faces I recognized, some old friends of my father, uncles from the neighborhood, familiar figures from my childhood. But this time, something felt different.
Many of them looked much older. Some were sitting on chairs for prayers, others walked slowly, carefully, holding onto the walls as they made their way to their spots. Some faces I could barely recognize because time had changed them so much.
And then, there were those I didn’t see at all.
Maybe they were too frail to come. Maybe… they were no longer here.
And that was the hardest realization to accept.
The recitation here is also different from the mosques in Cyberjaya. There, it’s more structured, sometimes with beautiful taranum and variations in melody. But here? It’s simple. Old style. They only recite ayat lazim, with Surah Al-Ikhlas always in the second rakaat. The voice is rustic, no embellishments, no dramatic pauses. Just raw, loud, almost shouting.
And the kids? Oh, they will do their salawat in full pitch. No holding back. Fuhh.
I only did 8 rakaat, but this experience, this nostalgia, this moment, it will always be a part of me.
Some places change over time. Some places stay the same. And some, like Masjid Sultanah Bahiyah, do a bit of both. But one thing is certain, memories remain.
