Festivals in Malaysia I Attended: How They Changed My Perspective
Malaysia is a country of colors, cultures, and celebrations. Before I visited, I thought I had a grasp of its diversity through books, travel blogs, and documentaries. But nothing could have prepared me for what it felt like to stand in the middle of a crowd as drums echoed, lanterns glowed, prayers rose into the air, and strangers pulled me into their circle as if I had always belonged.
Attending Malaysia’s festivals wasn’t just a series of fun events on my travel calendar—it was a transformative journey that changed the way I looked at culture, community, and even myself. Each festival revealed a side of Malaysia that can’t be captured in photos or summarized in guidebooks. From the sacred rituals of Thaipusam to the glowing joy of Deepavali, I discovered how celebrations here are more than tradition—they are lifelines connecting people to their history, their faith, and each other.
Hari Raya Aidilfitri: A Lesson in Community and Gratitude
My first festival experience was Hari Raya Aidilfitri, which marks the end of Ramadan. I happened to arrive in Kuala Lumpur just as the city was buzzing with anticipation. The entire atmosphere shifted. Shopping malls were decorated with fairy lights and giant ketupat displays. Families hurried through bazaars buying clothes, kuih (traditional cakes), and food for the celebration.
When the new moon was sighted and the announcement was made, everything changed overnight. Streets lit up with lanterns, people traveled back to their hometowns in a mass exodus known as “balik kampung,” and homes filled with the smell of rendang simmering slowly over charcoal fires.
A local family I befriended through a community program invited me to join them for iftar on the last day of Ramadan. Breaking fast together was already special, but staying for the Hari Raya celebrations after was something I’ll never forget. Their home was alive with relatives pouring in, laughter bouncing off the walls, and kids running around in matching traditional outfits called baju melayu and baju kurung.
The dining table was a feast:
- Ketupat wrapped in woven palm leaves
- Lemang, glutinous rice cooked in bamboo
- Rendang, beef slow-cooked with coconut milk and spices
- Colorful kuih desserts stacked neatly on plates
As a foreigner, I thought I might feel out of place, but instead, I was treated like family. Aunties insisted I take second and third helpings, while children taught me how to say “Selamat Hari Raya” properly. What struck me most wasn’t just the food or the decorations, but the sense of forgiveness and renewal. Families visited neighbors and relatives not just to celebrate but also to mend broken relationships.
Lesson:
Hari Raya isn’t just about feasting—it’s about forgiveness, gratitude, and community. Seeing people embrace one another after prayers, exchange small green packets of money (duit raya), and share meals reminded me how powerful social bonds are in Malaysia.
Chinese New Year in Penang: Vibrancy and Tradition
Next, I found myself in Penang during Chinese New Year, and the entire island seemed to burst into shades of red and gold. The streets of George Town transformed into rivers of lanterns. Every doorway had spring couplets pasted on red paper, wishing luck and prosperity for the year ahead.
I followed the sound of beating drums and stumbled upon a lion dance troupe preparing to perform. The dancers, drenched in sweat, tightened their costumes while kids gathered around waiting for the spectacle. The moment the cymbals clashed and the lion’s eyes blinked open, the crowd roared. I was pulled forward to place an orange under the lion’s mouth, a gesture believed to bring good fortune.
Food, of course, played its part:
- Pineapple tarts, buttery and sweet, symbolizing prosperity
- Nian gao, sticky rice cakes that are offered to ancestors
- Bak kwa, smoky slices of barbecued pork
Temples were filled with families lighting incense, bowing respectfully, and making offerings to deities. The air smelled of sandalwood and fireworks. I remember standing in Khoo Kongsi, one of Penang’s most famous clan houses, as families prayed together. The weight of heritage was so palpable—it was as if time itself had slowed to honor tradition.
On the second night, I was invited to join a family’s reunion dinner, the most important meal of the year. Around the circular table, everyone—from grandparents to toddlers—shared dishes while exchanging wishes of prosperity. I noticed how symbolic everything was: fish for abundance, dumplings for wealth, oranges for luck.
Learned:
Chinese New Year isn’t just a party—it’s a bridge between past and future. It preserves culture, keeps traditions alive, and strengthens family ties. For me, it was a reminder that festivals aren’t just for entertainment—they are living classrooms where values are passed down from one generation to the next.
Thaipusam in Batu Caves: Faith and Devotion
If Hari Raya was warm and welcoming, and Chinese New Year was vibrant and festive, then Thaipusam at Batu Caves was intense, spiritual, and unforgettable.
I arrived before dawn, but the crowds were already swelling. Devotees, barefoot and dressed in yellow, carried offerings of milk pots and climbed the 272 rainbow-colored steps leading to the cave temple. Some bore kavadi—ornate frameworks decorated with flowers, peacock feathers, and images of deities. A few even had hooks pierced into their skin, carrying weights as acts of devotion.
The soundscape was overwhelming: rhythmic drumming, chants of “Vel Vel” echoing through the air, and the murmur of prayers. The smell of incense mingled with sweat and crushed flowers. Despite the intensity, the atmosphere was deeply respectful. Strangers supported each other, offering water, fanning devotees, and cheering them on as they made the climb.
As a foreigner, I kept a respectful distance at first, unsure how much I was allowed to witness. But a local man explained the symbolism of the rituals to me, patiently answering my questions. “It’s about fulfilling vows,” he said. “We give our bodies and our effort as devotion to Lord Murugan.” His words gave me a new perspective on faith—one that involved not just belief but endurance, sacrifice, and surrender.
Learned:
Faith manifests in diverse ways. Watching pilgrims endure pain and fatigue with serenity taught me that devotion is not always easy or comfortable. Sometimes, it requires sacrifice. Thaipusam challenged me to respect expressions of spirituality that I had never encountered before.
Gawai Dayak in Sarawak: Connection to Nature
From the bustling Batu Caves, my journey took me east to Sarawak, where I was lucky enough to attend Gawai Dayak, a harvest festival celebrated by the Iban people and other Dayak communities. Unlike the urban festivals I had seen, Gawai felt earthy, communal, and deeply tied to nature.
The celebration took place in a longhouse, a traditional communal dwelling that houses multiple families under one roof. As I walked inside, I noticed handwoven mats, wooden carvings, and an atmosphere of unity. Everyone shared space, food, and responsibilities.
The festivities began with traditional rituals, including offering rice and chicken to the spirits of the land. Later, families gathered to perform dances accompanied by the haunting sounds of sape, a traditional lute-like instrument. I was invited to join, my awkward steps blending into the rhythm of the circle.
Food and drink were essential, too. Locals handed me tuak, a homemade rice wine that was both sweet and strong. Plates of bamboo-cooked chicken, wild ferns, and fresh river fish lined the table. What struck me most was how every dish seemed to tell a story of the land and its bounty.
The night continued with storytelling, laughter, and even impromptu competitions of singing and drumming. But at its core, Gawai was about gratitude—for the harvest, for the earth, and for one another.
Lesson Learned:
Celebrations can strengthen the relationship between people and their environment. Gawai reminded me that culture doesn’t exist in isolation—it’s connected to the soil, the rivers, the forests, and the ancestors who nurtured them.
Deepavali in Kuala Lumpur: Light and Inclusivity
My final festival was Deepavali, the festival of lights, celebrated by Hindus across Malaysia. I headed to Little India in Brickfields, Kuala Lumpur, and was immediately overwhelmed by the explosion of colors. Streets were draped in fairy lights, stalls sold fragrant garlands of jasmine, and music blared from every corner.
In the evening, I joined a family in lighting oil lamps outside their home. One by one, the small flames joined together, pushing back the darkness and creating a glow that felt symbolic and magical. Inside, trays of Indian sweets like laddu, jalebi, and murukku were passed around generously.
Temples were open to visitors, and I watched as devotees offered prayers, placed fruits and flowers before idols, and sang devotional songs. Yet, what touched me most was the openness. Strangers greeted me with smiles, explaining the symbolism of the lamps: “It’s about light overcoming darkness, good triumphing over evil.”
Performances of classical Indian dance and modern Bollywood-inspired shows took place on makeshift stages in the street. Kids ran around with sparklers while elders chatted and laughed. Despite being from a different background, I felt completely included in the joy.
Lesson Learned:
Deepavali taught me that festivals can unite communities. In a country as multicultural as Malaysia, every celebration becomes a chance not just to honor one faith, but to share joy across boundaries.
Common Themes I Noticed Across Festivals
After attending these festivals, I noticed some recurring themes that revealed a lot about Malaysia:
- Community Comes First – No matter the festival, people gathered in groups, shared food, and celebrated together.
- Food is Central – Every festival had its iconic dishes, each carrying history and meaning.
- Respect for Tradition – From lion dances to kavadi rituals, traditions were preserved with pride.
- Inclusivity and Openness – Even as an outsider, I was welcomed warmly.
- Learning Through Participation – By joining in, I gained deeper insights than by observing from a distance.
How Festivals Changed My Perspective
Before these experiences, I saw Malaysia as a destination of skyscrapers, beaches, and food courts. After attending these festivals, my perspective shifted entirely:
- I began to see Malaysia as a living tapestry of cultures, each thread essential to the whole.
- I learned that festivals are not just holidays—they are acts of preservation, teaching younger generations values and history.
- I gained empathy and respect for traditions that were unfamiliar to me.
- Most importantly, I realized that diversity doesn’t divide—it can unite when celebrated with openness.
Conclusion
Attending festivals in Malaysia was transformative. Each celebration was a window into the soul of its people—whether through devotion, joy, gratitude, or tradition. My perspective shifted from being a casual observer of culture to a participant in the living, breathing rhythms of Malaysian society.
For anyone traveling to Malaysia, I cannot recommend enough: plan your visit around festivals. Whether you find yourself lighting lamps in Kuala Lumpur, sharing ketupat in a village, or dancing in a Sarawak longhouse, you’ll witness Malaysia in its most authentic, vibrant, and inspiring form.
Festivals are more than events—they are lessons in humanity. And Malaysia, with its kaleidoscope of cultures, offers some of the most beautiful lessons of all.