Our Best Merdeka Ever – Merderka 2025

The sun rose slowly on August 31st, 2025. In a small village called Kampung Kuantan, the air was fresh and quiet, filled with the sounds of birds singing and a soft breeze moving through the trees. It was Merdeka Day—the day Malaysia celebrates its freedom.

Eddy, a kind man who fixed bikes and helped everyone, stood outside his house. He was putting up the flags. His sister, Anna, stood beside him, smiling.

This year felt special. For many years, people had been busy. Some left the village to work in the city. Others stayed, but life was hard—floods, sickness, and hard times made it hard to celebrate.

But this year, everyone came back.

Their friend Lily arrived with her two kids. She brought handmade cookies and a big heart. Her husband brought a speaker so they could play music.

Bell, Lily’s best friend since school, came from Penang. She baked kuih—sweet little cakes in red and white. “For Merdeka,” she said, grinning.

Vivian, a quiet woman who loved to draw, came back too. She brought a blank canvas. “I’ll paint what I see today,” she said.

Emma, their young niece, had big ideas. “Let’s have a parade!” she said. “No cars. Just us. Walking together.”

Hyuga, Eddy’s childhood friend, flew all the way from Japan. He taught Malay there and missed home. He brought letters from Malaysian students far away. “They wrote about missing Merdeka,” he said. “So I brought their words.”

Pye, the boy who once climbed the tallest tree in the kampung, was now a young man studying engineering. He came home to fix the old generator so the lights and music would work.

And Alexis, a shy girl who used to be afraid to speak, wrote a poem. “I want to say it at the event,” she said. “It’s called I Am Merdeka.”

Early in the morning, the children gathered at the field. The flagpole stood tall—fixed with strong bamboo and tied with care. Eddy was asked to raise the flag, because everyone trusted and loved him.

At 6:30 a.m., the national anthem began. A boy played the flute. A girl beat the rebana. Others sang, loud and proud.

As the flag went up, everyone stood still. Some had tears in their eyes. Eddy looked at Anna. She nodded. This was more than a flag. It was a sign of home, of togetherness, of hope.

After the flag-raising, the parade began. No fancy cars. No loud sponsors. Just people—old and young—walking side by side. They waved flags, sang songs, and stopped at every house, even the ones far down the path.

Back at the hall, long tables were filled with food. Nasi lemak. Sambal petai. Cucur udang. Kuih. Drinks in old glasses. Everyone brought something. Everyone shared.

Vivian showed her painting. It was a big tree. The roots were deep. The branches made the shape of Malaysia. On each leaf, she painted a face—Eddy, Anna, Lily, Bell, Emma, Pye, Alexis, and more.

“It’s us,” she said. “All part of one tree.”

In the evening, the children made paper lanterns. On each, they wrote a wish.

Lily’s son wrote: “I hope we come back every year.”
Pye’s sister wrote: “I want to be kind, like Merdeka.”
Alexis wrote: “Thank you for letting me speak.”

They let the lanterns go. One by one, they floated into the sky, like little stars.

Hyuga filmed it. Then he stopped the camera and looked around. “I forgot how warm this feels,” he said.

Anna smiled. “It’s always warm here. We just need to come home to feel it.”

At night, they set off small fireworks—bought with money from everyone. They weren’t big or loud, but they were bright and full of joy.

Eddy and Anna stood together, watching.

“We didn’t do anything big,” Eddy said.
“No,” Anna said. “But we did something true. We remembered each other. We remembered who we are.”

And under a sky full of light, with laughter in the air and love in every heart, Kampung Kuantan celebrated not just a nation’s freedom—but the freedom of family, friendship, and home.

This was their best Merdeka ever.

Merdeka is not just a day.
It’s love.
It’s togetherness.
It’s coming home.
Merdeka.