By Shazlin Niza Ab Razak
In many countries, public holidays are breaks from routine. In Malaysia, they are moments of togetherness. Our calendar does more than mark time. It quietly teaches us how to live alongside one another. A week may begin with the devotion of Thaipusam, continue with the reunion of Chinese New Year, and soon after welcome the warmth of Hari Raya Aidilfitri. Elsewhere, such closeness of celebrations might feel disruptive. Here, it feels reassuring. We do not rearrange differences. We accommodate them, almost instinctively.
As a lecturer at a public institution, I once showed an international colleague our academic calendar. He stared at it in disbelief. “Are all these really public holidays?” he asked. When told yes, he smiled and said, “Your country celebrates a lot”. He was right, but the number is not the point. The meaning is.
In Malaysia, festivals rarely belong to only one community. Mandarin oranges travel across households, and Malaysians gather around the table to toss ‘Yee sang’ with laughter and hopeful wishes. I once asked my international student from China if this was also practised in his country, and he smiled gently before saying no. In that moment, I realised the tradition had quietly become something uniquely ours, not tied to ethnicity but to shared experience.
Deepavali treats such as murukku appear in offices and disappear just as quickly, enjoyed by colleagues across cultures. Hari Raya ‘open houses’ welcome familiar faces and first time visitors alike. Even Thaipusam draws respectful observers who come simply to understand rather than to judge. Participation here does not require religious similarity. It requires goodwill.
This spirit now extends beyond physical spaces into digital ones. On TikTok, it is increasingly common to see non-Muslims documenting their attempt to fast for a day during Ramadan, waking up for ‘Sahur’ with friends, or joining iftar after sunset. These small acts are not obligations. They are gestures of friendship. What appears casual online reflects something meaningful offline. Malaysians do not stand outside each other’s traditions. We step gently into them.
The impact is perhaps most visible in our education system. Students do not learn diversity merely as a concept in textbooks. They live it daily. Group work adapts around fasting hours, classroom discussions pause for cultural understanding, and school corridors reflect multiple traditions within the same term. A child learns early why a friend cannot eat yet waits beside them anyway. Another learns to greet before understanding the words fully. Through these ordinary moments, young Malaysians grow not only in knowledge, but in patience, empathy, and quiet respect for one another.
Public holidays therefore serve a function beyond rest. They legitimise every identity within a shared national space. When communities feel acknowledged, cooperation becomes easier and trust becomes natural. Harmony here is not produced by policy alone but reinforced through repeated human interaction.
As Thaipusam gives way to Chinese New Year and soon to Hari Raya, the decorations change but the behaviour remains constant. Malaysians prepare, visit, greet, and include. Perhaps that is our quiet strength. Unity here is not built by removing differences but by routinely making room for them. Over time, accommodation becomes habit, and habit becomes culture.
In a divided world, our calendar does more than give us holidays. It teaches coexistence through practice.
Shazlin Niza binti Ab Razak is an English Language Lecturer at the Centre for Foundation Studies in Science (PASUM), Universiti Malaya
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