The Chinese New Years is the quintessential Chinese experience. Especially as both my mom and dad's side of the family started off in the countryside as farmer's, I've probably had more fun out of this holiday than most people that I know.
Out of everything I can remember when I was small, I remember some things vividly. One of these is the Chinese New Years celebration at grandma's place in Changhua. Nostalgia.
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I am shaken awake groggily by my sister, who grumpily tells me to get up and promptly leaves my room. She's not a morning person at all, but as she is extremely ticklish my dad always resorts to tickling her to wake her up. Which means she gets into a grumpy mood. Also means that I should watch her expressions carefully through the morning - don't want to annoy her even more.
My mom's already making breakfast for the family. It's soggy rice porridge, with fluffed pork and pickles and peanuts on the side. She usually goes all out in the mornings where something important will happen. Else she usually makes scrambled eggs.
Eat. Parents admonish me to pack my toothbrush. We walk outside our apartment into the still-dark night. Doesn't mean it's not humid - Taipei is eternally humid and hot, even at night. Dad's ridiculously old Geo is parked in the underground garage. We stuff our baggages in the trunk, and dad maneuvers it effortlessly out of the cramped spot and garage.
It is only 4am, but already there are loads of cars on the roads. I zone out and the Taipei City scenery flashes past me. The giant 10-lane boulevards, smaller streets, cramped alleys. Vendor carts are unmanned today - nobody will be manning them during Chinese New Years. We get onto the highway leaving Taipei, and I try to fall asleep in the car. Fortunately I succeed, and avoid having to deal with motion sickness in the car. Nothing ruins a long car ride than throwing up every 20 minutes.
I wake up and look at the clock. It's around 9am - we've been driving for close to 5 hours. "Where are we?" I ask, and was told that we have only reached about halfway to our destination. Traffic is beginning to back up all the way from Taichung City, and the car slows down to a run, then a jog, then a walk, then a crawl. I am relieved - no motion sickness any more - and fall asleep again.
It's noon, and we are weaving around the maze of countryside roads on our way to grandparent's house (grandparents from my dad's side) in the township of Huatan in Changhua County. I have never been able to understand how my dad remembers the way so accurately. I consider myself to be an expert in geography and directions, but even I cannot remember the twisting mazes of roads and alleys. Along the way, my dad brings up, for the umpteenth time, how my grandparents from my mom's side gave me a horrible name (Defensive and Punctual), and that they should have gone with the name given by my grandparents from my dad's side (Scholarly and Diligent).
Suddenly, we're there. A blue cast-iron gate, with crudely-shaped lion heads on either side. I get out and run to press the doorbell, and a loud clanging sound ensues at the push of the button. The gate opens with the screeching sound of metal on metal, courtesy of the rusting joints, and behold - it's one of my uncles. Which one is this again? I can never distinguish between my dad's 5 brothers.
We pull into the somewhat spacious courtyard, and the adults unload the luggages while the children run off to find cousins. My dad maneuvers the car to a corner of the courtyard, beside the stagnant pond - whose only conceivable purpose must have been to serve as mosquito breeding grounds.
The courtyard is surrounded on three sides by my grandparent's one-story dwelling. It is hard to describe the house - the architecture is just so different from Western style. Numerous doors lead into the courtyard, so one could simply walk from the courtyard into any location in the house. Of course, there are double-layered doors - one for locking, though this is rarely done in the countryside, and one with a mosquito net to ventilate the house while minimizing the threat of mosquitoes.
The rest of the day passes in a whir. The adult men are gathered around in the living room, having heated discussions of politics. Kuomintang Party vs. Democratic Progressive Party. My dad's brothers all have the same propensity for irrational arguments, so before long they are yelling at each other and not listening to each other's points at all. Then the women brings another round of tea, the discussion cools down, only to restart the cycle again. Adult women gather to make a austere but sumptuous-tasting feast. Lots of chopping sounds interspersed with gossip - whose kid got into Taichung First High.....yes my husband bought me the expensive dress from the luxury store...etc. Some of the teenage girls help with making sweet dumplings from scratch, making the dough and patiently wrapping each small ball of filling with some dough. The kids run around and play simple games - jump rope, biking around the farms nearby, climbing the tree in the courtyard, playing cards; somebody brought a connect-four. Sometimes we try to help with the dumpling making. The sisters let us help with a few, before shooing us away and re-folding the ones we folded badly. An euphoric mood.
The night begins to fall. Those who go out for exploration around the countryside begin to return with giant mosquito welts. An intense mosquito repellent application session ensues, and soon the entire courtyard smells headily like camphor tree oil. But the mosquitoes stay away. The teenagers begin to plan their firework/firecracker and drinks run to the store. As usual, kids can't go along - "why?... Because kids under 10 years old can't go...you can't just make up the rules!!...MOM!!...kids stop bickering and get us some water for the kitchen from the pump in the yard!"
Soon the dishes are arranged in the dining room. By this time almost all the relatives from my dad's side have arrived - 8 uncle-aunts, 21 cousins. We fill up our plates and head out to the courtyard, and sit on the ledge while we eat. Already, we can hear firecrackers and firework sounds coming from around. And soon after, the kids lay lethargically around the courtyard. Those who have the energy to get in groups begins to play games, while others just lay and looked at the bright stars overhead or chatted...armed, of course, with fly swatters.
In a while, the dumplings are ready, so we grab bowls and load up on the sesame and peanut-filled dumplings. They are absolutely delicious, but we are told - wait until everyone has had some before taking seconds. Teenagers begin to break open the fireworks and firecrackers, so we begin to have fun. Sparklers, roman candles, fountains, spinning shrieking tops, water whistles, and the quintessential rockets. For a while, nothing exists apart from the flashing lights and hissing sounds that emanate and reverberate from all around the courtyard. Even the adults come out and group together, watching the kids and teenagers have fun.
As midnight approaches, the adults begin cooking Age-noodles. These are unbroken strands of noodles, and superstition holds that the more you can eat without breaking the noodle, the longer your parents will live. The kids naturally try to best each other, so the courtyard fills with slurping noises. Around this time, the adults begin to hand out Red Packets, with money inside them, out to the kids and teenagers. The excitement of opening one, and seeing the money inside, is probably the best feeling in the world. Sometimes they only have 100 NTD ($4) inside, sometimes they have 500 NTD ($20), but it doesn't matter too much. Each gives to their own ability. Plans are rapidly drawn up with what the money will be used for - comic books, games, putting it into the bank, buying a basketball.
Midnight arrives. The largest and most brilliant firework is fired - the long string of firecrackers, and the mesmerizing popping and crackling announces the new year. The countryside fills with yells of "Xin Nian Kuai Le", or happy new year, and the remaining rockets are fired into the air. The highlight of the night is over. Superstition says, the longer you can stay awake on New Year's Eve before falling asleep, the longer your parents will live. Most of the kids make it until 1am, but beset by exhaustion of the day's activities, begin to turn in and pass out on the beds. By this time the adults have set up the individual mosquito nets on each bed, so kids don't have to worry too much about bites during the night. The adults have boiled large pots of water, so kids can now take quick baths with the rough soap and buckets, assuming they have not fallen asleep yet.
The last thought before I fall asleep - how could I have not managed to stay awake for longer so my parents will live a longer and healthier life?
And then, nothingness.
--
I returned to my grandparent's place last summer, for the first time in 12 years. It's been 9 years since they've both passed away. The landscape is alien - factories and workshops dominate the landscape where once farms stood. Yet as I stood outside the faded blue gate, I could not make myself open it. I didn't want to taint the innocence that, for me, still existed behind those gates. To contemplate everything that is forever out of my reach now apart from my memories.
Post-Script: I can't believe how nostalgic and emotional I am right now. I can close my eyes and visualize the entire scene playing out in front of my eyes. I haven't, and probably won't, experienced anything even remotely close to this ever again. How I so want to go back in time and experience it again.
-FCDH
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