The Lunar New Year has always felt like a magical time for me, growing up in a Vietnamese household. Lavished with shiny red envelopes, crunchy spring rolls and a house brightened by guests and relatives, Tết felt like my birthday and Christmas combined. I always felt a discernible change in the atmosphere, a sense of excitement for the start of a “second” new year.
I recall hearing my mother fretting about whether or not she could get fresh hoa mai (yellow apricot flower) every year — an important tradition for her. Not one to disappoint, I’d always come home from school reassured by the sight of hoa mai decorated with red envelopes and placed neatly in a vase in the living room.
“Beautiful, right?” my mom would declare as she stopped to admire the flowers.
The bright yellow branches of hoa mai acted as traffic lights for me — a welcome reminder to pause and remember the pending celebration.
See also: What Lunar New Year looks like around the world
Following traditions
My mother always instilled important superstitions in me yearly. When gifting red envelopes, she reminds me, “Always give out money in even numbers. Odd numbers are bad luck.” Or, “Remember not to cut your hair a week before the Lunar New Year.” These were some of the age-old adages that I often forgot, much to her dismay.
One year, I cut off six inches of my hair on the eve of the Lunar New Year, much to my mother’s horror. “You better pray for a blessing from your ancestors,” she admonished me. I always thought it was rather silly to follow these superstitions. How would this really impact me? At 20-something, my rebellious self challenged it, rolling my eyes every time my mother would reinforce the superstitions.
What Lunar New Year means to me
For me, the Lunar New Year is about family. It’s a special time of year when I feel a strong sense of pride and connection to my culture, and the unique traditions that I celebrate with my family.
As I got older, I slowly learned to appreciate the traditions unique to my Vietnamese heritage. When I think about a fond Lunar New Year memory, I remember how much I enjoyed being responsible for setting up the dinner table with offerings to our ancestors. There was something special about taking the time to carefully arrange three bowls of rice and pouring three cups of tea, before organizing the specialty dishes like mi xao (fried noodles), gỏi gá (chicken salad), xôi gấc (red sticky rice), and chả giò (spring rolls).
I felt a sense of duty as I prepared the table before my family would each take turns lighting incense sticks and praying before our ancestors.
Reflecting on the past few years, especially during the early months of the pandemic in 2019, I reconnected with my roots by writing for Cold Tea Collective. It felt like falling in love again as I explored my mixed identity as a Vietnamese-Chinese Canadian woman and reflected on how my cultural values and experiences, like those during the Lunar New Year, shaped me into who I am today.
Now, rather than feeling embarrassed (the way I used to), I feel a sense of pride talking to friends or colleagues about common superstitions or practices that my family participates in during the Lunar New Year.
No matter how busy life gets, I always know how important it is to return home and celebrate the Vietnamese Lunar New Year by sharing a special dinner with my family — and knowing that I get to savour my mother’s famous chả giò (spring rolls).
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