Chinese New Year

Before my grandparents died, Chinese New Year was my favourite holiday in the whole world.  It meant piling into our car for the 10-hour drive up to Terengganu where my grandmother would let us cook food on a huge bonfire fuelled by trash and gasoline.  She'd drag out old magazines, newspapers and even furniture and while it was burning and her back was turned, we scented the fire with stolen kaffir lime leaves. 

We camped in her garden and played with sparklers, and we even got our very own lion dance (my relatives own a shophouse and the lion stops by annually).  I loved lying on the sticky leather couches with my cousins and watching movies in a food coma.  Once, we sat through the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy just so we could make fun of the whole thing.  

Things change.  My cousins and I have grown up and we are scattered round the world now.  Chinese New Year no longer means gathering at the matriarch's house and paying our respects.  After missing a few years' worth of celebrations, however, the whole family decided to meet up in Singapore this time round and I was psyched beyond belief.  

We've never hosted the Chinese New Year celebrations before, so we decided to pull out all the stops.

The red and yellow plants are cockscombs.  I objected on the grounds that the colours were tacky, but my brother, Shen, pointed out that there is no Chinese New Year without tacky so we got two pots.  And yes, we had real live pussy willows in our house and they freakin' bloomed.  As fuzzy little buds, they're cute and all but very soon it looked like we had a sheaf of branches draped with hairy yellow caterpillars. 

After all my relatives (with the exception of my other brother, Wei) rolled up just in time for the reunion dinner, there was a shitload of feasting.  And I mean, a shitload.

I don't think we've ever fed this many people in our house before.

Best of all that night, we had yusheng.  My family is remarkably un-Chinese in some ways and I don't think we've lo-heid together in years.  Standing on top of a chair with my camera and watching everyone laugh, tease and fling food about, I was filled with an unspeakable happiness.

My cousins have grown up but they're as playful as ever and we had fun tossing the salad and shouting "hot stallion!  Hot stallion!" together. 

Chinese New Year morning was laidback, but just as enjoyable.  I don't know when we'll meet like this again and so drove my family to distraction, following them around with the camera and demanding that they pose for photos.  Luckily, my mum's two sisters are pretty sporting.

I made Shen and Yen pose like one of them was secretly disgusted with the other.  That face is too good for words.

I wore a red peplum top I'd snatched off the Forever21 discount racks two days before.  It cost me all of $13.  Now that, my friends, is what we call "huat".

The angbaos were exceptionally pretty this year (and not particularly "ang").

For lunch, we had Terengganu's famous fish keropok and spicy salad.  I'd forgotten what it was like to have a house filled with noise and love with relatives round every corner and I was enjoying it thoroughly.  Even without the infamous bonfire, New Year in Singapore didn't feel lonely or sterile.

We even had the time to curl up on the couch with a few good movies.  Any night with Blades of Glory is a good night for me!

It's not the same as when my grandmother and grandfather were around.  It'll likely never be again.  

But life necessitates both nostalgia and adaptation.  These are new traditions, loving and wonderful, and I'd like to think that wherever my grandparents are, they feel it and are proud.