Sacred Time, Social Form

Human beings are defined not only by desire but by the struggle to discipline it. The impulse to consume, to react, to indulge — even in its most ordinary forms — reveals the complexity of human will.

In Islam, that tension is formalised into a structured act of devotion: fasting during the month of Ramadan, an annual exercise in restraint, reflection, and moral recalibration.

For Muslims worldwide, Ramadan is not symbolic. It is obligatory upon those who have reached maturity (baligh), are of sound mind, physically able, not travelling (musafir), and free from conditions that grant exemption, such as menstruation (haid) or post-natal bleeding (nifas).

As stated in Surah Al-Baqarah (2:185), the month was revealed as guidance for humankind, and fasting is prescribed in it as a form of discipline.

Yet Ramadan does not unfold in abstraction. The obligation is doctrinally fixed; its lived expression is socially embedded. Across Southeast Asia — within ASEAN’s mix of Muslim-majority states, significant minorities, and divergent governance models — Ramadan is prepared, structured, facilitated, and at times regulated. It reshapes public space, reorganises labour rhythms, and recalibrates social exchange.

Before the Crescent: Entering Sacred Time

Across Southeast Asia, Ramadan rarely arrives abruptly. The days before the first crescent sighting are often marked by gestures of moral orientation — acts that prepare not just the body, but memory and intention.

Brunei Darussalam signals the threshold formally. Mosque announcements and state confirmation of the moon sighting define the precise entry into sacred time. Families quietly adjust domestic rhythms — reorganising meal schedules, cleaning homes, recalibrating sleep patterns in anticipation of longer nights. The transition is structured, even when understated.

In parts of Java, Indonesia, entry into Ramadan may be preceded by nyadran — collective visits to ancestral graves. Families clean burial sites, scatter flowers, and recite prayers. The act is not merely commemorative; it expresses reconciliation with God, with family lineage, and with unfinished obligations. In some communities, padusan — communal bathing in springs or rivers — symbolises bodily purification before spiritual restraint. While debated among scholars, participants frame it as symbolic preparation rather than a doctrinal requirement.

Elsewhere, anticipation is quieter. In southern Thailand and parts of the Philippines, preparation tends to be domestic: stocking staple goods, coordinating extended family schedules, and planning collective iftar meals. The absence of public ritual does not imply lesser significance. Instead, sacred time enters through the household.

Across contexts, the pre-Ramadan phase performs a similar function: it slows society just enough to mark that something different is about to begin.

The Social Rhythm of Fasting

When Ramadan begins, the most visible transformation is temporal. Daylight contracts into discipline; night expands into activity.

Brunei’s public sphere reflects institutional structure. Food establishments operate within regulatory frameworks shaped by Syariah law, and public eating during fasting hours is restricted. The discipline of the fast is mirrored by administrative order.

In Indonesia, the reorganisation of time gives rise to distinct social practices. Sahur on the Road refers to gathering at approximately 3–4 a.m. to eat the pre-dawn meal (sahur) outdoors with friends, sometimes in near-empty streets. What appears recreational is also adaptive: young people renegotiate urban space at unconventional hours, transforming obligation into shared memory.

Meanwhile, roadside distribution of takjil — light foods prepared for breaking the fast — temporarily reorders the street. Volunteers hand meals to delivery riders, commuters, informal workers, and others caught in traffic at sunset. It is not a transaction but a redistribution. Those who normally buy become recipients; those who prepare give without exchange.

Malaysia and Singapore witness similar adjustments in rhythm. Mosques expand evening programming, while large Ramadan bazaars emerge as nocturnal gathering points. In Myanmar’s Muslim communities — including Rohingya and Indian-Muslim populations — communal cooking often ensures access to iftar amid structural uncertainty.

In Cambodia and Vietnam, where many Muslims trace their heritage to the Cham people, Ramadan unfolds primarily at the village and mosque level. Evening prayers lengthen, Qur’anic recitation intensifies, and shared iftar meals reinforce both ethnic and religious identity. The scale may be local, but the cohesion is pronounced.

In Lao PDR and Timor-Leste, where Muslim populations are small and largely urban, mosques function as compact centres of gravity. Congregants gather not only to break the fast, but to reaffirm community continuity within overwhelmingly non-Muslim national contexts.

By day, restraint. By night, intensified exchange. Ramadan here is not simply abstention; it is the reallocation of time, attention, and presence.

Breaking Fast and Building Community

Sunset is the axis around which Ramadan revolves.

In Brunei Darussalam, breaking the fast — sungkai — often takes place in structured communal settings. Mosques host organised meals before Maghrib prayer, reinforcing both devotion and collective rhythm. Later in the evening, moreh — light refreshments shared after Tarawih prayers — extends social presence into the night. The mosque functions not only as a sacred site but as a nocturnal social infrastructure.

Across Indonesia, buka bersama (collective iftar) has become an annual mechanism for reconnection. Workplaces, alumni groups, neighbourhood associations, and extended families schedule gatherings throughout the month. Attendance signifies continuity. The fast creates a recurring obligation to reassemble.

Malaysia institutionalises generosity through mosque-based food preparation, particularly bubur lambuk, a spiced rice porridge cooked in large quantities and distributed freely. Singapore mirrors this pattern on a smaller scale, where mosque-based meal distribution reinforces minority cohesion within a secular urban framework.

In Southern Thailand and the Philippines, iftar often centres on the household, though markets adjust to meet evening demand. In parts of southern Thailand, families prepare khao yam, a herb-rich rice salad whose ingredients require careful and often time-intensive preparation. Certain components can be assembled in advance and stored for use throughout the month, allowing domestic labour to adapt to Ramadan’s altered rhythm. Sacred time here reshapes not only prayer schedules, but kitchens.

In each context, breaking the fast remains both intimate and public — domestic tables coexisting with organised distribution systems.

Supporting Micro-Enterprises

Ramadan activates micro-economies across ASEAN.

Temporary bazaars in Malaysia and Singapore draw large crowds, offering traditional dishes alongside contemporary variations. Indonesia’s roadside vendors experience seasonal income spikes from iftar sales. For many small-scale entrepreneurs, Ramadan contributes a significant share of annual earnings.

Brunei’s organised bazaars operate under regulatory oversight, balancing commercial activity with public order. In economically fragile parts of Myanmar and southern Thailand, the scale may be smaller, yet the impact remains meaningful. Increased demand for staple foods supports local suppliers and informal vendors.

In Cambodia and Vietnam’s Cham-majority villages, Ramadan markets tend to be modest, community-based affairs rather than commercial spectacles. Food preparation is often collective, and economic exchange remains largely intra-community. In Lao PDR and Timor-Leste, economic activation is minimal in scale, but mosque-centred meal provision still redistributes resources within tight social networks.

Critiques of Ramadan commercialisation often frame consumption as a contradiction. Yet within much of Southeast Asia, Ramadan circulation coexists with redistribution. Obligatory almsgiving (zakat) flows alongside market exchange. Support for small and micro-enterprises becomes part of how communities sustain one another during sacred time.

The Night Before Eid

As Ramadan concludes, restraint gives way to expansion.

Across Indonesia, the eve of Eid al-Fitr is marked by takbiran — processions chanting takbir in praise of God. In many neighbourhoods, this takes the form of torch parades (pawai obor), accompanied by drums (bedug). Sound and light fill the streets, publicly signalling the end of fasting.

Malaysia illuminates homes with pelita raya — rows of oil lamps lining pathways and courtyards. In the Philippines, particularly in Mindanao, decorative lanterns echo similar themes of illumination. Light becomes both ornament and declaration.

Movement intensifies as well. Indonesia’s mudik — large-scale homecoming travel — reshapes national mobility patterns. Families cross islands and provinces to reunite.

Monetary gifting completes the cycle. In Indonesia, elders distribute Tunjangan Hari Raya (THR) to younger relatives, reinforcing kinship hierarchies while redistributing liquidity within households. Employers are legally required to provide THR bonuses, embedding religious festivity into labour policy. Malaysia’s duit raya, Brunei’s family-based gifting, and Singapore’s green packets reflect parallel customs. In Thailand and the Philippines, practices vary in scale but similarly centre on intergenerational giving.

Eid concludes Ramadan through sound, illumination, mobility, and money — a sacred time expanding outward into society.

Faith and Governance

Ramadan within Southeast Asia also reveals how states position religion within public life.

Brunei Darussalam integrates Syariah-informed regulation into daily operations during Ramadan, structuring public consumption norms. Malaysia balances Islamic institutional authority with plural governance. Indonesia, constitutionally secular yet demographically Muslim-majority, facilitates Ramadan primarily through social momentum rather than uniform state enforcement.

Singapore demonstrates calibrated accommodation within a secular framework, supporting mosque activities while maintaining civic neutrality. Thailand and Myanmar, where Muslims constitute minorities nationally (though majorities in certain provinces), exhibit varied degrees of local autonomy and constraint.

Cambodia and Vietnam formally recognise Islam as a minority religion, allowing Ramadan observance within community boundaries while maintaining secular state structures. In Lao PDR and Timor-Leste, Ramadan unfolds with limited state intervention — neither prominently facilitated nor systematically restricted.

The fast remains religiously defined; its public environment, however, is shaped by governance models.

Majority and Minority Contexts

Demography alters scale but not devotion.

In Muslim-majority societies such as Brunei, Indonesia, and Malaysia, Ramadan reorganises the national tempo. School schedules adjust; media programming shifts; marketplaces reorient.

In minority settings — Singapore, Thailand, Myanmar, The Philippines, Cambodia, Vietnam, Lao PDR, and Timor-Leste — Ramadan operates at different scales. In Cham communities of Cambodia and Vietnam, the month reinforces both faith and ethnic continuity. In Laos and Timor-Leste, compact congregations sustain observance through mosque-centred solidarity. Public space may not transform nationally, yet communal bonds intensify locally. Shared meals, extended prayers, and collective charity reinforce internal cohesion.

The distinction is not between stronger and weaker practice. It is between different social architectures.

Is There a Southeast Asia Ramadhan Pattern?

Across these diverse contexts, a recognisable rhythm becomes visible. Ramadan begins with preparation — moral, domestic, communal. It moves into restraint during daylight hours. Nights expand into gathering. Economic activity intensifies alongside religious devotion. The month concludes in redistribution and celebration.

Qur’anic recitation runs through it all. Whether heard in Brunei Darussalam’s regulated mosques, Indonesia’s neighbourhood surau, Malaysia’s organised programmes, Singapore’s minority institutions, Cham villages in Cambodia and Vietnam, or small congregations in Lao PDR and Timor-Leste, the text remains the quiet anchor.

The obligation to fast may be singular in doctrine, but its lived architecture is shaped by governance models, demographic realities, inherited customs, and collective memory. Perhaps that is the deeper discipline at work, which is not only the restraint of appetite, but the annual rehearsal of how a society recalibrates itself under sacred time.

(HAR/JUN/BRZ/CCL/QOB/ELS)

Balinese traditional gamelan is one of the cultural masterpieces of the archipelago that lives and continues to develop with its people. For Balinese, gamelan is not just a musical instrument; it is part of the soul of life.

Gamelan is present in various important moments—ranging from religious rituals, sacred dances, cultural celebrations, odalan ceremonies, to entertainment and art performances

The melody of the gamelan is so fast, tight, dynamic, and energetic. This beautiful sound is intertwined by the close cooperation between the players and the harmonization of various instruments, each of which has a special but complementary role:

• Gangsa as a melody carrier.

• Kendang as a tempo regulator.

• Ceng-ceng as a rhythm enhancer.

• Gong as a marker of the musical cycle.

Conservation Challenges in the Middle of the Capital City

In the midst of the rapid flow of foreign culture, the preservation of traditional culture must be the main focus. Gamelan Tantular, a Balinese Gamelan community, is present in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Jakarta’s urban life to answer this challenge.

With the spirit of caring, preserving, and making Balinese Gamelan more accessible to various groups, across ages, and professions.

Uniquely, unlike learning western music which is closely based on sheet music and block notes so that it is easy for anyone to learn, learning traditional music such as Balinese Gamelan is not based on sheet music or block notes. It requires more musical intuition, feelings, and strong memorization.

The absence of a definite (pakem), theory, or score often makes Balinese Gamelan difficult to learn by those who do not have a musical background.

So other learning media that are more relevant and easily accessible to the younger generations are needed.

@gamelan.tantular

Gamelan Tantular on Instagram: "Kelas Smaradhana.
Kelas ini dit…

Micro Learning: A Bridge to the Digital Generation

The spirit of preserving traditional arts requires adaptation to make it easier to learn and remain relevant for the younger generation.

One of the solutions is through the use of micro learning videos.

Through Program Inovasi Seni Nusantara 2025 (PISN) grant from the Directorate of Research and Community Service, Directorate General of Research and Development, Ministry of Higher Education, Science, and Technology, School of Design – BINUS University in partnership and the Gamelan Tantular community are trying to produce micro learning videos.

With the main goal of breaking down gamelan learning materials into short, focused, and easy-to-digest video pieces. With this format, learners can understand the basic techniques of playing gamelan in just a two- to three-minute video.

The advantages of this format are huge, especially since gamelan learning materials are not available in the form of written scores like pop music or Western music. With clear visuals and compact format, learners can repeat material anytime and anywhere, even just from their phones. Even though they are not present at the studio.

The video making process was carried out by students and lecturers at the School of Design-BINUS University with members of the Gamelan Tantular community. There are 5 micro learning videos that showed the basic techniques of playing gamelan, as well as the basic patterns of gangsa and reyong musical instruments. Another 360 videos were also created to show full set Gamelan performed by Gamelan Tantular members.

From café corners and fashion drops to weekend trips and music festivals, life is lived not just for the moment but for the lens. Social media trends now shape what feels relevant, while aesthetics and algorithms quietly influence how people dress, talk, and even think.

The result is a generation fluent in performance, treating life itself as a form of storytelling.

Dentsu’s Fragment Forward 2025 report calls this shift “Algorithms and Blues” capturing the emotional paradox of a generation chasing connection in spaces ruled by code. According to Dentsu’s APAC Consumer Navigator Q2 2025, more than 60 percent of Southeast Asian Gen Zs admit to feeling pressured to keep up with online trends even when those trends don’t resonate personally.

This is the new FOMO; not missing out on the moment itself, but on the visibility and validation that comes with it.

Gen Zs as the ‘Performative’ Driving Force

Southeast Asia’s Gen Zs are growing up in two overlapping worlds: Every offline experience carries an online afterlife. Going for coffee, running a marathon, attending a festival, these are opportunities for expression.

The result is a life that feels spontaneous but is often rehearsed. Algorithms quietly choreograph how people move, what they buy, and even how they express themselves. To be seen is to publish.

Three Shifts Defining the New FOMO

1. Life is content first, experience second

Across Southeast Asia, experiences have become photo backdrops, while the feed has become the main stage. Participation is increasingly driven by how shareable the moment is.

Boutique gyms, artisanal cafés, and pickleball courts in Malaysia are designed for the camera, while along Hanoi’s West Lake, a casual walk can turn into a cinematic shoot. And in Manila, social media showcases fiestas and pageants as a display of prosperity to a wider audience.

2. Authenticity is now a performance

Gen Zs prize authenticity, but even the photo dump that looks like an afterthought is all crafted to feel spontaneous.

The casual looking #GRWM precision of Malaysia creators, the vulnerable honesty of Filipino content framed in burnout confessions or an athlete’s unguarded outburst, and the experimental playfulness of Vietnamese youth, all show us that what is genuine is now a visual language, where curating the self becomes a form of creative freedom.

3. Trends are the new timetable

The traditional calendar no longer defines Southeast Asia’s cultural rhythm. What trends online quickly spills into real life, shaping what people wear, eat, and aspire to.

Here is where culture moves to the speed of the scroll, where trends are driven by inspiration, and move at their own rhythm, often much faster than inventory itself.

A single Coachella performance by Jennie can turn cherry red into the Philippines’ color of the year, while a dance trend can travel from Seoul to Saigon in hours, reinterpreted through local humour and sound.

Brands Dancing with the Algorithm

For brands, performance culture opens endless entry points for engagement, with every moment — a café visit, a workout, a festival — holding potential for brand connection, if it fits the rhythm of Gen Z expression.

Yet, visibility alone no longer guarantees relevance as Gen Z attention is fleeting, trends are cyclical, and the half-life of hype can be measured in hours.

Take for example, in Malaysia, where beauty and belonging drive visibility, brands that respect the aesthetic instinct while offering substance resonate deeper, like Carlsberg’s Look East 2025, which brought local music, culture, and community together through a “By Local, For Local” Spotify playlist celebrating Malaysia’s creative pulse.

In the Philippines, brands that empower self-expression and community will earn their place in the spotlight, from Yamaha Fazzio’s #StartYOUniqueness movement that celebrated individuality, to Maya Black’s bold redefinition of the black card as a symbol of confidence and creative freedom.

And in Vietnam, where creativity meets curiosity, brands that enable exploration and experimentation will become part of identity itself – as seen in Mirinda’s AI-powered “Superpower Generator” that invited Gen Z to unleash their inner hero, and Biti’s “A Step Forward”, which turned 40 years of heritage into a platform for artistic expression.

FOMO, Rewritten

Across Southeast Asia, the new FOMO reveals a generation that is distinct, diverse and deeply connected.

The fear of missing out has evolved into the art of being part - of shaping, of sharing, and of showing life in motion. Each market expresses performance culture in its own way, yet all are bound by the same digital heartbeat.

In this rewritten FOMO, the most powerful brands will not be the ones who chase the spotlight, but those who will help our generations of tomorrow step into it.

(RHZ/ELS)

🤡 Toys aren’t just for play

🔑 Why it matters

Research shows 🧠✨ play reduces anxiety 😌 and supports brain development 📚.

At a discussion titled “Fear to Confidence: Learning through Play with LEGO MRI Scanners” at the ASEAN Secretariat building in Jakarta on Thursday (08/28), pediatrician dr. Bernie Endyarni Medise explains:

“Children’s brains are abstract, especially at ages 6–7, so they need play.”

Medical settings make this even more important.

The loud, beeping sounds of MRI scanners 📟 often spike children’s stress 😰.

A playful tool 🎲 can soften that fear 💛.

Enter LEGO

• In 2015, a LEGO employee 🧱 and a Danish hospital 🏥 created a mini MRI scanner kit 📦.

• By 2022, the LEGO Foundation 🧱🌍 had donated 600 kits worldwide 🎁.

  The LEGO MRI sets walk kids in turning fear into confidence.

🌏 The Expansion

Now, the ASEAN Foundation, LEGO, and United Way Worldwide 🤝 are distributing 1,002 kits across Southeast Asia 🌏 — 324 each in Indonesia 🇮🇩 and Singapore 🇸🇬 — along with educational materials for families 📚👨‍👩‍👧.

👨‍👩‍👧 Why families matter

Siti Fuadilla Alchumaira of Save the Children Indonesia 🗣️ emphasized that adults shouldn’t control play but guide it 🎲.

She flagged two challenges:

• Balancing fun with learning ⚖️✨

• Ensuring access 🌍🔑

Her reminder:

“Playing doesn’t require expensive tools.”

✨ The takeaway

Toys can be more than entertainment. 🎲✨ They calm 😌, teach 📚, and connect 🤝.

Or as LEGO’s Ardi Hendharto put it: 🗨️

(RHZ/QOB)

Let’s talk about plastics. 🧴

Last month, two big updates landed — one gave us hope, the other… not so much.

The good news first…

On July 25, Indonesia welcomed a brand-new association: Asosiasi Guna Ulang Indonesia (AGUNI). Their mission? To make reuse the norm.

Think: renting utensils instead of buying disposable ones, refilling household products, or returning cosmetic containers instead of tossing them out. 🌍

According to the Deputy Director at Plasticdiet Indonesia, Rahyang Nusantara, who co-founded AGUNI:

“Real change starts from the ground up. Businesses, communities, and civil society in Indonesia are already proving that reuse and refill systems can work.”

Sounds promising, right?

aguni_reuse

A post shared by @aguni_reuse

Now the bad news…

Fast forward less than a month later, on August 15. A global letdown arrived from Geneva, Switzerland. Negotiators at the Global Plastic Treaty (aka INC-5.2) failed to agree on a plan to solve the plastic crisis. Yep, after 11 days of talks… nothing concrete.

Rahyang was there among 600+ observers. His takeaway from Geneva:

“Plastic pollution handling cannot rely only on downstream waste collection and recycling, it must prioritize prevention through reducing production, phasing out single-use plastics, and scaling reuse systems.”

Moreover, he said:

“Without upstream action, we are only managing symptoms, not solving the problem.”

rahyang.nusantara

A post shared by @rahyang.nusantara

So what happened inside the room?

Indonesian journalist Ahmad Arif said on Thursday (8/21) at the webinar titled “Plastic Wastes Earth and Human”, said the outcome from the INC-5.2 was basically zero progress. This is despite the fact that the UN Environment Assembly has mandated countries to end plastic pollution.

Arif explained that the 184 countries split into two big camps:

• Those who want strict limits on plastic production.

• And those who don’t.

Where’s Indonesia in all this? Sitting pretty quiet. Why?

Because at home, the government is still planning to ramp up petrochemical and plastic production. Petrochemical companies even get tax holidays — sometimes up to 20 years. 🏭

gaia_zerowaste

A post shared by @gaia_zerowaste

Meanwhile… according to Arif, the US was working behind the scenes to weaken proposals.

And countries with big petrochemical industries? They pushed for a watered-down draft. The result: a weak text, endless bracketed notes, and way too much lobbying.

As Rahyang put it:

“Responsibility lies not just with powerful countries, but also with governments that chose to stay silent or play safe instead of pushing for ambition.”

Zooming in on Southeast Asia

as per the Kompas journalist, Ahmad Arif.

The Philippines? Loud and clear, pushing for progressive restrictions.
Malaysia? The opposite. They’ve even openly said they don’t support limiting plastic production.

And Indonesia? Like he said — cautious, with eyes on its plastic industry goals.

rahyang.nusantara

A post shared by @rahyang.nusantara

So… what now?

While world leaders stall, that doesn’t mean we’re powerless. According to Rahyang, individuals can still help shift the norm:

• Bring your own: bottles, cups, bags, containers. 👜

• Support reuse businesses: shop where refill and return are options. 🔄

• Speak up: ask your favorite café or store to cut single-use plastics. 📢

• Share the story: spread the word — reuse matters more than “just recycling.” 📣

The treaty may be stuck, but the fight isn’t over.

(RHZ/QOB)