Our Acting Editor tells us why – despite his detachment from his Chinese roots – Chinese New Year is still a special occasion for him
For those well-acquainted with me, they won’t hesitate in concurring that I’m not exactly a ‘Chinese’ Chinese. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t deny my racial identity and I do acknowledge that I Yam What I Yam (cue Popeye whistle), but I guess Chinese culture just wasn’t zealously ingrained in me growing up.
I was raised in a purely English-speaking household (though my parents are able to speak fluent Mandarin, Cantonese and Malay), where the telly was often playing scenes from Murder She Wrote rather than Chinese soap operas. I used to find lion dances absolutely dreadful with their grotesquely animated eyelashes. And the only thing I loved about Mandarin classes in Primary School was catching up on my crime fiction books under the desk – at least, ’til the cranky teacher busted me and told me to stand in a corner (I think that’s what he said).
Fast forward a bunch of years, and my grasp of the Chinese language remains appalling – perhaps, only effective enough to ask for no chilli in my bak chor mee. Which is why when it comes to tossing the ingredients of the customary yu sheng for Chinese New Year, I am at an utter loss. My focus is stretched enough just trying to keep the treasured slices of salmon on the plate as shredded bits of carrot, radish and ginger are being maniacally flung about like veggie rain, let alone say the appropriate auspicious four-character proverbs without sounding like a dweeb. The only fun consolation in this mini-panic attack is whenever I attempt to accomplish this with my Mum’s (albeit Westernised) side of the family; Chinese dictionary apps and repeat-after-me tutorials are all relied upon as we make a mess together – together as a family, bonded by broken Chinese and yu sheng pandemonium.
Family is what Chinese New Year is all about, really. Like any other year of the Chinese Zodiac Calendar, this Year of the Monkey will see families reunited and rekindled. Graves will be cleaned and visited with prayers to the afterlife, and homes will come alive as gatherings garner relatives both immediate and long-lost.
“Can sing song for Ah Ma?”; “O Level exam results, how?”; “Got girlfriend already, or not?”; “Ehhh, when will it be your turn to have babies??”.
Through the years, these are the types of questions I get bombarded with by my aunties and uncles. I figure the shy toddler in me would’ve found this attention both frightening and fascinating, and later on during my pubescent teenage years, nosey to the point of annoyance. But one thing you realise as you mature is how temporal relationships in your life tend to be, all except those you retain within family. So I’ve come to embrace this torrent of questions as persistent yet precious affection, no matter who I come face to face with at these cordial gatherings – the uncle who likes to drink, the auntie who screams after winning a game of cards, the super-distant relative who never gets my name right, even the new pint-sized nephew who drools all over me (despite my fear of babies). Chinese New Year has made me realise that this is the kind of thing you don’t take for granted.
That said, will I diligently welcome the new monkey year by spring-cleaning my pigsty of a room? Probably not. Will I get a fresh haircut and purchase an ASOS order of red clothes? Don’t think so either. What I can tell you is that I’ll be sitting on the couch watching a re-run of Kung Fu Hustle with my aunts and uncles, feeling my pocket get thicker with the generous influx of ang pows (this good fortune will cease to continue if I ever tie the knot), and my tum get rounder as I stuff myself silly with pineapple tarts and hae bee hiam rolls. But hey, the fam won’t judge.
“Boy ah, tell me about your job again. You work at Honeycombers one, right?”
My body is ready.