A mini post for the new year.
Happy Lunar New Year! It’s the year of the rabbit.
Over the last few days, I’m observing a drip-feed of memories from around Chinese New Year in Singapore.
Glittery red and gold banners and lanterns all over the city, with cute illustrations of the animal of the year. Piles of mooncakes in supermarkets. Mandarin oranges everywhere. Any number of songs with any number of variations of “Gong Xi Gong Xi Gong Xi” playing on a loop in nearly every shop for days leading up to the new year.
The university campus deserted for four days (the days given off were always close to the weekend), with few eating options. Only the foreign students roaming around, somewhat dazed, figuring out their next meal.
My first ang pao – a red envelope with a cash gift – and the heady excitement I felt when the MD of the office in which I interned gave it to me. “Really?” I wanted to ask him. “You give ang pao to interns? Even the ones that are foreign nationals?”
Team lo heis – a ritualistic tossing up of a variety of ingredients on a large plate, each one with its own significance, for good luck and prosperity – and trying to separate out the fish before I ate the mixture (and once thinking “ah, fuck it; it doesn’t matter” and eating it all anyway).
These odd memories are among the few things that remind me that my time in Singapore wasn’t a dream I made up. These are the ones that surface when I notice a dollop of envy whenever I hear about someone moving to Singapore; that coat a hollowing sadness I feel when I think of the city.
Gong Xi Fa Cai.