When I was young, my family would take me to the West End of London for Chinese New Year – it is the largest celebration of the Spring Festival outside of mainland China. It was the Year of the Monkey, 2004, and I was only nine years old. It may seem weird to you, my likely-to-be Singaporean reader, but the dancing of the dragon, the banging of the drums, the throw of the firecracker, and the explosion of the fireworks captivated my very young soul. It was so alien, so colourful, so different from anything that I had experienced at that time that it propelled my imagination into overdrive. The zodiac itself fascinated me; I believed it to be superior in almost every way to my own. To be an independent and loyal Dog or to be an obsessive and manipulative Scorpio; to me, there was a clear winner. In the bitter cold of winter, I would stand, observing the dragon as it filtered through the streets of London Chinatown. It was mesmerising.
In Singapore, as I stood on the Hongbao River at the Marina Bay floating platform, I relived many of these memories. We stood there, a group of Ang Mos, taking photos with the zodiac, watching the performances, engrossed by the fireworks. We were able to celebrate New Year again, this time together (and sober), all in the same place. It was here, however, that I realised my first misconception; Chinese New Year is more than one day long.
I have to say that I was pretty nervous on the train to Lakeside the following morning. I had asked my local friends about the possibility of spending Chinese New Year with one of their families and two of them had offered their homes to me (or more so, two of their relatives had). I had done my research – I had my two mandarins prepared and I had consciously worn a green dress for the occasion instead of my usual black. I had even googled the translation of “Happy New Year” in Mandarin but had quickly discarded the idea of articulating it after butchering the pronunciation in practice. I met my friend, her parents, and her siblings at the station and we made our way to her grandparent’s flat. I was almost as interested in seeing the flat as I was in experiencing the festivities – where I am from, only the reasonably rich or the reasonably poor live in flats instead of houses.
I took my shoes off at the door and momentarily entered the flat before quickly retreating to take my socks off (another custom that I am just not used to); I am already outside of my comfort zone. My friend’s family stood before me, beckoning me into the room. I approached the closest person, my friend’s grandmother, and offered the mandarins to her. The whole exchange went a little bit over my head – I wasn’t really sure about the purpose of giving the fruit and I was equally as shocked when they were returned to me at the end of the evening. I proceeded to greet the rest of her family before sitting down.
There is a phrase that became commonplace amongst me and my friends when we moved to Singapore; eat until you hate yourself. Chinese New Year exemplified this more than anything else. Even before the reunion dinner was even served, snacks were passed between us. I had hardly finished eating one thing before another was placed in my hand. They wanted me to have the full experience and I guess the full experience means being “full”.
It was at this point of the evening when the aunties and uncles proceeded to give out their Ang Bao; it was my shock (and almost horror) when I received some myself. I am resistant to accepting money from my own family, let alone from somebody else’s. The red packets felt uncomfortable in my hands – I had asked to be a part of this experience and I was beyond honoured when they had allowed me to do so but, to me, taking their money was a step too far. I had to resist rejecting the money. I was extremely grateful and I accepted both their money and their blessings.
We gathered around for Lo Hei. As I lifted food into the air, I felt something that more related to amusement than prosperity. High into the air my measly grasp of food was raised before it fell, pathetically, back to the earth. My mother had told me from a young age not to play with my food and now, all of a sudden, it was encouraged. Dinner consisted of butter chicken, Hokkien noodles, steamed prawns, ngoh hiang, satay, naan, “fake” shark fin soup, and an assortment of random vegetables.
The next day, on the LRT, I was reminded of a very slow and disappointing rollercoaster. With two more mandarins in my hand, I began my second Chinese New Year experience. Unlike the previous evening, I discovered the meaning of the mandarins, it’s associations with “luck” and “wealth”, and the connotations of the character “fu”. My friend spent the entire afternoon feeding me everything under the sun: I ate bak kwa, love letters, pineapple tarts, bahulu, dried mandarin orange, arrowhead chips, lapis legit, and more.
Relationships was a common topic throughout the festivities. Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? When will you have children? What happened to your boyfriend? Etc. etc. Surprisingly, the conversations were quite pleasant. The aunties exclaimed at my singularity and reassured me that I would have no trouble in getting a new partner – it’s nice to have the moral support, you know. One auntie gave me some very potent advice; You’re not married? Oh! Well – when you get married –make sure that you have children straight away so that you can earn your Ang Bao back.
The children I sat with asked me a ten-tonne of questions. They were fascinated with Britain and London, and often asked what I was doing in Singapore. I was equally as interested in them. I asked the younger child, what do you plan to spend your money on? The girl, at the age of ten, exclaimed how she was saving up for her driving licence – at ten years old, I was still praying that Pokémon and Harry Potter were real. Only adults drove cars and I had little to no intention of becoming an adult at that age.
My first Singaporean Chinese New Year amazed me; the holiday reminded me more of Christmas than New Year’s Eve itself. The focus on family, on food, on the interaction between the young and the old, was touching to see and experience. It is a memory that I will cherish.
(And at least I was sober enough to remember New Year this time!)
