dah makan ke?

Today, I went to the library to do work while fasting, and before leaving, I packed my buka puasa meal: 

Two donuts, 
A hot chocolate I redeemed using my step points, 
A full bekas of strawberries and mandarin oranges, 
Pasta with beef, 
and Hashbrowns for extra carbs. 

I laughed at how excessive it looked, almost embarrassing. It felt like I was packing for more than just myself. But at the same time, I caught myself wishing someone would ask me, “Have you eaten today?”

“Yes,” I would say. “I have eaten tomorrow, even.”

I remember pausing for a moment before leaving, looking at everything laid out, wondering if I was overdoing it. But as the day went on, this reminded me of how a mother prepares food for her child,  always a little more than necessary, just in case.

It is the same instinct that makes me carry snacks in my handbag, just in case. I think I like the idea of looking out for my future self. Anticipating her needs before she even realises them. In some ways, it feels almost maternal. The way a mother would overpack for her child: an extra teddy bear, a pacifier, the selimut busuk, things that might not be needed, but are there anyway, ready.

All of this made me think about my mother. Growing up in Malaysia, she would pack meals for me in Tupperware containers, often with more food than I could finish. There was always an awareness of balance, rice, something savoury, something fresh. Making sure I had enough of everything.

It also brought me back to my time living at Ripstone. One of my housemates used to prepare fruit for me, cut into slices, washed, and placed neatly in a bowl. I was not someone who ate fruit regularly, and I never asked her to do it. But she noticed, and she acted on it. She saw something I was not doing for myself and quietly made it easier for me to do better.

All of these memories somehow come back to one phrase: “dah makan ke?”

In Malaysia, it is such a common question that it almost fades into the background of everyday life. It is asked casually, sometimes even absentmindedly, by family members, friends, and neighbours. But it is never empty. It always carries something with it.

On the surface, it simply means, “Have you eaten?” But it is also a way of asking, “Are you taking care of yourself?” It recognises that before anything else, before work, before conversation, before everything, you need to be nourished.

Living in the UK has made me more aware of how particular this is. Here, people do not usually begin conversations by asking if you have eaten. Unlike in Malaysia, food is something you grab, something quick, something efficient. That is why they think a sandwich is a proper meal. My Malaysian self still struggles with that. No rice, no meal.

I agree with Qadirah, I do not think I realised how much that question meant to me until it was no longer part of my everyday life. Such a simple question, but it makes you feel remembered, like you are part of a bigger community that pays attention to your needs.

I want people to ask me these mundane questions.

“Dah makan ke?” so I can tell them that I have eaten everything from the food pyramid today.

“Hari ni pakai baju apa?” So I can say that today, I decided to dress like the AirAsia logo.

"Tengah fikir apa?" So I can tell them I'm thinking a lot about porn and fetish, and if I'm not, I'm thinking about Projek Lumina

Because for us, these questions are not reserved for people we are close to. They are communal. They come from aunties, neighbours, friends of friends, people you barely know. And it never feels intrusive. I do not mind telling you what I have eaten. In fact, thank you for asking. Thank you for wanting to know if I am nourished. Care is not something that you need to work to earn, but simply something that is given.

I miss how effortless it is to exist in a place where people check on you without overthinking it. Where care is woven into language so naturally. I expect nothing less from a culture that says thank you with “terima kasih.” Even the words feel soft.

Being away from Malaysia makes you realise how much love lives in these small interactions. When even the akak jual kuih calls you “sayang.” When Pakcik Jaga makes sure that your grab is at the right place. When customers at Mamak went out to offer to park your car for you after watching you struggling to park for 10 minutes (Kayu Nasi Kandar Cheras, you are the best, truly). Care is everywhere, in the grand gestures of course, but scattered everywhere, in passing words, in tone, in habit.

You did not ask me "dah makan ke?", but yes, "saya dah makan."

Will you ask me that question tomorrow?