Lunar Revision
It’s the Lunar New Year and we’re all trying to get lucky.
Heaven knows we need it, this year more than usual. We’ve cycled through the zodiac and arrived at the year of the metal ox, which we’ve collectively agreed is a good sign. Endurance, reliability, diligence, and trust, don’t wear white or black, don’t touch your scissors, don’t eat porridge, and don’t ever, ever let your children cry. Okay, okay. If I were a better granddaughter, I’d know the nuances offhand, but I had to google all of that, and more. Still, the news carries other optimisms: local cases have been consistently low to nil. So, beyond a slight tightening of restrictions, and innovating the ways in which we’ll scare residual bad juju away, families all over the country can, and do, begin to prepare.
The exact date for the Lunar New Year changes from year to year, depending on when the moon first deigns to hide her face. This year, it’s February 12th when the lunisolar calendar resets and the ticking begins. For the next fifteen days, we will cite luck and wealth and superstition as an excuse to overeat dumplings and tang yuan, swap oranges for money, and let the dishes pile up, because washing them rinses off any fortune that might have snuck into your home at the stroke of midnight. As if fortune is anthropomorphic, as if we can catch it with both hands, close our eyes, and hope. Still, let’s. For fifteen days let’s live by the rules of fairytales and legends because if we don’t, all our businesses will fail, our families will quarrel, our debts will accumulate, and our superstitious grandmothers will be grumpy as fuck.
Reality bends, flexes, and yawns.
Remember when we used to plot paths out of celebration? When it was a hassle, when extended family meant interrogation, and the youths of tomorrow shrugged off the traditions of today? Right before the Lunar New Year, my girlfriend’s appendix threatens to rupture. When they take it out, it’s twice the size of a regular appendix and she’s down an organ. We spend two days in the hospital breaking all tradition and trying hard not to think of death because it’s bad luck. Every three hours, we hold hands and wince as the nurses take her blood and pressure. Even so, we feel lucky. The appendix is largely useless and there are worse things to lose. Finally, I say, I don’t think that’s what they meant by spring cleaning, and she holds the red seam of her stomach, like, help, stop, don’t make me laugh.
Still, let’s.
For obvious reasons, festivities this year are quiet, a hybrid of screens and clusters. Nevertheless, they exist, and for now, that’s a win. We’ve all endured losses in the past year but somehow I still have both grandmothers, though one is deaf and the other has dementia. Over hotpot, I tell them about the hospital visit, which is supremely bad luck; they frown, tilt their heads, and forget immediately. Across the room, my father shakes his head at my dance with danger, but he’s laughing behind his mask. My grandmother, the deaf one, wants to know what’s so funny; it’s just as well that she can’t hear our answer. I spear a fishball for her, teasing her attention away. As for the other one, living in a state of perpetual delight, there is nothing but the present moment. The past year hasn’t existed at all.
It’s the Lunar New Year and we are all looking for reasons and ways to celebrate. My love, for just this moment, let’s choose to rejoice. The truth is, to me, spring cleaning doesn’t matter, nor do the lucky foods, the firecrackers, the dos-and-don’ts of colors. I don’t care about prosperity and blessings and I’ve never been able to accurately count the auspicious dates off my fingers. I don’t believe in luck and I still think Singapore is way too sweaty for hotpot. To me, oranges are for eating, not giving; I don’t understand why older folk nag you when you wash your hair, I mean, I do, but Singapore is humid, man, come on. I don’t like visitations and I don’t care for gossip and I don’t want to get into why I’m fat or unmarried, but you know what, this year, I’ll take it, I’ll take it all.
