I was 8. Nael was 10. Our fathers made an appointment with a local clinic during the school holidays. For one of the most important phase of our lives, we were the least informed about the whole process. It was as if everyone was preparing a ceremony for the sake of it.
All the married women camped at the back of the house and automatically reprised their roles. They chopped onions, marinated chunks of lamb, mixed acar and blendered spices that makes up for a delicious feast tomorrow. I watched on as they finish their cooking and kept all the food in large pots to be refridgerated. If I knew then that I wasn't able to eat any of the food prepared the next day, I would've sneaked into the kitchen and rummage through all the pots like a starved street rat.
We woke up early in the morning for a silly photography session dressed in baju melayu, P Ramlee style sampin and tanjak. We looked like miniature Sultans.