Happy Lunar New Year to those who celebrate it!
Chinese New Year, like the Gregorian one, feels like it snuck up way too fast on me this time around and not just because it’s on January 22nd!
Do you all remember that Smash Mouth song “All-Star?”
Yeah, the one in the Shrek movie with the lyrics “the years start coming, and they don’t stop coming?” As I’ve gotten older, I feel like that statement has only become more valid.
Greg Camp, you truly are a lyrical genius.
How is it 2023 already?!
It feels like we just rang in 2022 a few months ago … and don’t even get me started on the blurry haze that was 2019-2021.
But, as we leave the year of the tiger behind and enter into the year of the rabbit together, I find myself feeling strangely nostalgic.
I’m quickly realizing that one of the major downsides to growing up is that the number of commitments, events, and deadlines on your schedule seems to grow exponentially. I’m constantly getting slammed in all directions, struggling to check off the next thing on my infinitely long to-do list.
But, it’s not just me who’s been getting busier, it feels like my entire family and friend group are stuck in the weeds with me. And, as we grow up and grow out, it’s becoming increasingly hard to make time to see each other and genuinely connect.
I’m an in-state kid who grew up in one of the suburban neighborhoods in Redmond, Washington: a short hour-long, two-bus ride away from campus. And, like many Asian kids, I feel like I’m torn between familial commitments and wanting to live my own life. During the weekdays, I live in an apartment close to campus, and every weekend I make the trip back home to visit my parents and brother.
You know… I never considered myself the type of person who got easily homesick.
Last year, I even told myself I would only go home once a month to maximize my time and get the whole college experience.
Yeah… so much to my chagrin: that inevitably failed.
So, what happened?
I blame Swaraj.
Swaraj is one of my best friends from high school, who sadly (for both of us) ended up at the University of Michigan instead of UW. And during one of our weekly Facetime calls, he shared a mind-blowing statistic that I couldn’t get out of my head.
He told me that when we graduate high school and leave for college, 90% of the time that we will ever spend with our parents is over.
As you can imagine, this statistic did not bring me joy.
But, whether or not the actual number is accurate: the statement has a lot of merits.
As we grow up and grow out, we get busier, and whether by choice or by circumstance going home seems to become a lot more difficult.
Now, I bet you’re wondering: what does all this have to do with the Chinese New Year?
Well, how I interpret it: the Lunar New Year is a time for families to reunite and reconnect over a shared meal.
And for my family, this holiday was one of the first times in a long time that we cooked and ate dinner together. It was the most connected we’ve been in a long time.
Ironically, however, it was all due to my selfish desire of wanting to eat homemade dumplings.
You see, my mom, aunt, and grandma used to make dumpling dough from scratch and roll it out together. They’d fill up the skins with a unique blend of pork, shrimp, green onions, ginger, spices, sauces, and cabbage and boil them in a huge steel pot. And, being too young to help, I’d wait, mouth-watering in anticipation for those hot, plump, and juicy dumplings to float to the surface, signaling that they were ready to eat. The whole process seemed like magic to me. I was always amazed at how quickly my family could turn those raw ingredients into something so delicious.
But, as relatives moved out and away, we slowly stopped making dumplings from scratch. We’d buy them from nearby Asian grocery stores, and, although delicious, they didn’t feel or taste the same.
So, indulging me this year, my family put on that famous Chinese New Year Gala (you know the one with all the famous actors, singers, and comedians? yep, that exact one that inevitably makes you cry as you think of the past) rolled up their sleeves, and got to work. I was on dough duty with my brother while my mom worked the filling and my dad boiled the dumplings.
It was my first time making dough from scratch, and, though a long process, I must say it was worth every second. The unexpected labor involved gave me a new-found appreciation for the past efforts of my family. And soon I began to understand that this process which I had once thought was done so easily was in reality, made up of a large amount of love and hard work.
I’m glad I wanted fresh homemade dumplings this year. And though I’m definitely out of practice and my dumplings look far from the ancient Chinese money they’re supposed to resemble, I’m still proud of myself.
Food connects my family. And I know that when I finally do move out and away, I’ll always have that link to them, no matter where I end up going.
One day, I’ll get the filling recipe from my mom (though I’m sure it’ll consist of instructions that tell me to measure with my heart and my feelings) and surprise them all with my perfect homemade dumplings. But, until then, I’m more than content to sit around our dinner table with my family: talking and laughing and kneading and rolling and filling and crimping my imperfect dumplings.
