Six

San Francisco, Feb 2011.

This Chinese New Year actually came and went quietly, with me hardly noticing it.

The key word here is “quiet”. The fact that it occurred in the same sentence with CNY makes it a novelty, and that is a fresh change from the usual scarlet festivity, which had always been just a novel – the kind that has more drama than you can keep up with, but still manages to be several hundred pages too long.

It’s not that I hate CNY. In all honesty, I actually enjoy going back to my Grandma’s for some home-cooked spread, soaking in the camaraderie and witty banters unique to Ipoh-town folks, and take full advantage of the homely love that Uncles and Aunts seem to be more inclined to dish out when they have not seen you for a year. And Kuih Kapit. Oh man, how I miss the sweet aroma teasing my senses when I levered open the Milo tins filled with those pieces of crispy, folded wonders. And lion dances. And wearing red for gung-ho’s sake. And holidays, except I always ended up working anyway, because a procrastinating workaholic (yes, they do exist, but the government hushed it up) should never end up as a freelance writer.

But I could really do less with the spring cleaning, and the noise level, and the stress, and the visiting, and the scorching heat pervading the air, and the songs. Gosh, especially the songs.
This year, however, CNY was a negligible affair. Granted, I baked the cornflake-cookie thing with my host kids (my first time baking okay!) to show some gusto, but other than that the day went on with a different kind of drama, stress and noise level (firecrackers stand no chance against the kids’ screams). I even forgot to wear red.

I did, however, shivered in the cold rainy evening for several hours in San Francisco to watch the CNY parade, which was supposedly among the top ten parades in the world.

My verdict? Meh. The lion dances were half-hearted at best, the marches were mostly unsynchronized, and some of the costume designs were just plain, well, plain. It could be that the whole spirit of CNY was dampened by the rain, which has the nipping potential to freeze anyone into immobility. There were times when I thought my hands went dead, which would be a bummer, considering that I was trying to push the shutter button on my camera.

And that was how I learnt to appreciate the things I never found the reason to. Like the warmth of the festivity in Malaysia, both in family and in weather. I realised that part of the fun of CNY is that it makes you want to tear your stinky, sweat-stained shirt out. And being able to stomach any chilled beverages, even Sarsi (diabetes in a can, that). I also realise that there are some things that Malaysians still do best, lion dances being one of them.

Most of all, I realise that my CNY in America lack a certain noise level, stress, visiting and general red-ness. And songs. Gosh, especially the songs.

I kinda, perhaps, miss them.

Next year, I’ll be eating my words. But I bet they wouldn’t taste so bad with Kuih Kapit.