akar

I would like to start by telling the story of my aunt whom I affectionately know as ‘Enda’. Enda was a beautiful woman. Bright, brilliant and with a huge heart; she was a beacon of warmth for my whole family growing up. I recall fond memories of spending Friday lunches together with Enda and my parents, having them playfully poke at one another whilst we feasted on my grandmother’s cooking. She had such an impact on me growing up - I miss her terribly. Enda passed away from cancer about 10 years ago.

Why Enda got cancer could be due to many things, but the whispers within the family of the reason for her unhappiness was deafening. It wasn’t spoken, but felt. Due to our family’s royal heritage, it was good practice (especially amongst older generations) to marry within other royal families of different Malaysian states. Enda never got a say in who her future husband would be - it was arranged. And it’s because she never had a say in it, the stress and misery of being married to someone for legacy and not for love would cause cancer to fester in her. My grandparents carried that regret until their last days.

Tradition and family is a funny thing. One would think they go hand in hand, but not all traditions should continue. I have always struggled with my heritage and how it shapes my worldview. To question tradition isn’t blasphemy - why should we continue practices that we know to be harmful? Why should we perpetuate ideas and social moores that hurt more than it binds? Like tradition, generational trauma perpetuates through the decades. The echoes of pain that your forefathers felt reverberate through their children and their children’s children. I wanted to tell a story that shows the conflict of the effects of generational trauma and traditions conserved.

The idea to include a ‘Saka’ is not for the sake of novelty either - this is common practice amongst many Malay families, even till today. This ‘being’ that you ‘employ’ for your family would be carried through generations, passed down from parent to child. Each generation would need to ‘feed’ this being and care for it as if it was employed under their care. Sure, maybe back then the idea of a Saka would have sounded like a good idea to one person, but why must we inherit it when we never asked for it to begin with? I believe the Saka to be a perfect example of the intersection between generational trauma and tradition.

The story of Akar is a human one - it is of grief and loss, intermixed with the idea of inheriting the same pains your parents carried in their misguided perception that its benefits outweigh the cost. Would you inherit your parent's riches if it meant that you would forever be stuck in the cycle of trauma and repeated mistakes of your forefathers?