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…
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