I
t was Friday, Jan. 24. I was laying
in my bed, only awake because of
the sunlight streaming in through
my dorm window. After a while, I
decided it was time to finally get up, so
I rolled over and reached for my phone
sitting atop my desk. A calendar event
notification topped the screen.
It read: “Tomorrow, Lunar New
Year.”
My
family
has
always
loosely
followed typical Lunar New Year
traditions. We have a straightforward
way of celebrating: We clean to get
rid of any bad luck and make space for
good luck. My brother and I receive
red envelopes from relatives, usually
sent in the mail or as electronic money
transfers. My mom cooks us dinner,
supplementing our meal with a few
boxes of take-out from the dim sum
restaurant and an order of noodles from
our favorite Vietnamese place. “This is
for longevity,” my mom always said.
We’ve never had a big family reunion
dinner like we’re supposed to in order
to celebrate the holiday. Traditionally,
the New Year dinner is special, mainly
because it’s a big occasion for families
to reunite with family members who
live far from home. It’s supposed to be
an intimate setting; families sit around
the table for hours catching up with
relatives they don’t often see. Normally,
the food is entirely home-cooked,
and there are often fireworks later in
the night. For my family, there are no
fireworks, and dinner is usually just
the four of us — my parents, my brother
and myself. A “reunion” with our other
family members is usually out of the
picture as most of our extended family
lives in the Philippines.
Regardless of how small or simple or
unconventional my family’s Lunar New
Year activities have been, it’s always felt
like a tradition for me, made even more
special because it’s a time of closeness
with my immediate family. On this one
particular day every year, it’s what I’m
used to.
As I stared down at my phone screen
alerting me of the upcoming holiday,
I knew there was nothing traditional
about how I’d be celebrating this Lunar
New Year. It’d be the first one I’d spend
away from home. For the first time, I
wouldn’t be cleaning with my family.
I wouldn’t be comparing red envelope
money with my brother. I wouldn’t be
sitting at the dinner table among plates
and trays of noodles. I would be alone,
hours away from any of them.
This realization stuck with me
as my day went on. I couldn’t
stop thinking about it, and
the event on my phone
calendar kept the thought
of the Lunar New Year
in the back of my head.
Remembering all the
things I’d miss doing
with
my
family
brought
back
a
wave of nostalgia
and
yearning
that
I
hadn’t
prepared for. I
was left feeling
homesick
on
the
holiday
during
which
I was meant to
be surrounded
by those I love
and those who
love me.
Of
course,
it’s not like Ann
Arbor is completely
devoid
of
any
Lunar
New
Year
celebrations.
There
were
various
Lunar
New
Year
celebrations
being held across campus
that weekend — the Chinese
department was holding an event
that Friday afternoon and a couple
of student organizations were holding
events on the actual holiday. After
looking through a couple of the flyers
and invitations online though, I decided
not to attend any of these events. The
idea of going to them felt weird. They
couldn’t offer what I was used to. The
Lunar New Year is a holiday that has
become deeply personal to me — so
simply going to a substitute event felt
too removed.
Ignoring the Lunar New Year entirely
wasn’t an option either, because that
felt strange, too. If I did that, I felt
like I was letting go of the tradition of
celebrating entirely, something I wasn’t
prepared to do.
Even if I wasn’t spending the New
Year with my family, I still wanted to
celebrate it. I’d just celebrate it in my
own new way.
Instead, on the first day of the Lunar
New Year, I convinced three of my
friends
to
go
out for dinner to eat
ramen on State Street, with my
mother’s words about noodles and
longevity swimming around in the
back of my mind. Once we arrived at
the restaurant, it was clear I wasn’t
the only one who had this idea. It was
packed, and the waiter informed us it
would most likely be a 45-minute wait.
At that, my friends turned to me,
looked at me as if to ask, “Well?”
It was up to me.
“I want noodles,” I said.
In the end, I did get the noodles
I wanted. The steam from my bowl
of ramen fogged my glasses as I sat
at a table of four, surrounded by my
friends. For a moment, I thought about
my parents and brother back home. I
thought about the cleaning, the red
envelopes and the family dinners.
Then, I looked down at my noodles and
figured that I was definitely going to be
OK, even if I wasn’t spending the Lunar
New Year with my family. Even when
I’m separated from them, I can still
practice and experience little pieces of
the traditions we’d created.
As a freshman in college, I’ve slowly
been learning that this is something
that I’m going to have to get used to. The
Lunar New Year isn’t the only occasion
I’ll spend away from my family. As
students
moving
away
from
our
childhood homes, we naturally grow
into more independent lives: Learning
to create our own traditions is simply a
part of the process of growing up.
3B
Wednesday, February 5, 2020 // The Statement
3B
BY CHELSEA PADILLA, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
Dining alone, or maybe not
ILLUSTRATION BY TAYLOR SCHOTT