Many people see Chinese New Years as a time to celebrate a newness, but to me it's a time of gratitude and self-reflexion.
You see, in a sea of words, it is difficult to pick just one to call your own. Beautiful, intelligent, average . . . brave, sinister or lost - these are all words people chose to describe themselves. But for me? I'm one of the lucky few to know with certainty what my word is - chinese.
The funny thing is that, technically speaking, I'm not really chinese. I wasn't born in China, I don't fulfill society's stereotypical standards, and I'm only genetically half chinese. That's right - I'm a mutt. However, once you get past the physical standards and contemplate what it is to be chinese, you'll see that I really am chinese.
I like to prepare for Chinese New Year by reflecting upon this story at the end of every lunar year, in preparation for the next.
I was born into two races - chinese and caucasian (german) - both complete cultural opposites. Most of my adolescence was spent resenting my chinese heritage, wishing I had blonde hair and blue eyes, with a nice orange glow to match. It was one simple holiday that changed the way I saw myself forever - Chinese New Year.
I had always celebrated Chinese New Year with my father and older relatives, but never really took the time to learn what it means. I accepted the flow of red envelopes and was polite when I had to listen to hours of people telling me "It's bad luck to frown today," "Little girls in red dresses bring big luck," and, my personal favorite, "Eat the eyeballs - it might make you wiser." During this whole time I never really knew what was going on; all I knew is that the next morning I'd wake up with a bunch of stuffed red envelopes to fatten my piggy bank with. I didn't know it then, but those were truly happy times.
One day, when I was 16, at the height of my hate for being asian, the unthinkable happened. My dad, my best friend in the whole world, died. Unexpectedly. And it was crushing. The following two years were filled with several more crushing blows of death. Everybody felt bad for me and my mother, even the staff of my high school.
Six months later, on Chinese New Year, I was called in to the front office of school. Thoughts raced through my mind of all the things that were going to go horribly wrong. But, to my suprise, the principal and her assistants had a gift for me: tangerines, candied ginger, and a little red envelope with a life changing message. It read "Be proud of who you are." It was a simple message, but it made me realize how unique and loved I am.
What I failed to explain is this: the principal and I were the only two asians in a school of 5,000 caucasian students and teachers.
It was incredibly moving to see a group of women who knew nothing about Chinese New Years reach out to me in this way. They wanted to learn and celebrate this holiday with me. They wanted to give me a day of happiness and family.
And so, from that Chinese New Years on, I've reflected on this memory. Spending the day reflecting on this single positive thought creates an additional year of my own happiness and luck. For me, it's the perfect way to spend the holiday.
