My First Lunar New Year
I am a 26-year-old Chinese American. This is my first year to celebrate Lunar New Year.
As a Chinese Adoptee, I did not have community resources readily available to me to learn about Lunar New Year. Reflecting back, I did have resources, a decent-sized Chinese community in my home town, adoptive parents who would’ve said yes in a heartbeat to whatever way I decided I wanted to celebrate. But the ‘Chinese New Year’ parties I attended — amounting to 2 in my conscious memory — were awkward gatherings of children ranging in ages 4 to 9 gathered around a table with red envelopes at a restaurant that took my family over 2 hours of driving to get to — and our adoptive parents just as awkwardly gathered on the other side of the room — watching us, wondering if something magical might happen.
Looking back, I can’t tell if our parents were seeing this as some weird social experiment or if it was just as awkward for them as it was for us. The feeling of being in a fishbowl had never been so prominent.
It's a weird almost voyeuristic feeling I have when I see families walking through New York City. Especially the multigenerational fluttering activity of Chinatown when the weather is nice. The smells of the grocers and fish markets are particularly reminiscent of the summer I spent back in China exploring my local market.
I felt particularly rude and intruding when I asked my roommate what she and her family’s Lunar New Year traditions were. She’s known about me being adopted since we agreed to find an apartment together. And I can’t thank her enough for her patience and kindness when I throw the insane amount of questions her way- about cooking, about holidays, everything. It is hard to describe what it's like living and sharing a space with someone who can be open about culture and heritage with me with zero judgment.
I will hold a monthly space of support for other Chinese adoptees, this past week, my roommate was kind enough to spend her Sunday afternoon teaching us about foods from our lost heritage. It is unfortunate to see how Chinese adoptees have become some form of a monolith- reflecting how White Supremacy often views anything it deems “foreign”. There is beauty in the diversity within a shared experience and shared space. But I likewise mourn for the diversity of heritages that were lost to us.
For my own life, I cannot differentiate what might be customs or regional quirks, or dialects of my own original province of Anhui, something I do regret and wish to learn one day. I can tell you all of the local cultures of my own hometown in Texas and its history- the warm sense of pride that rushes through me when I tell people about it. But then the surprise that crosses their faces — when they do in fact, knowing I am Asian, find out about my very White adopted culture.
Preluding the celebrations over the next couple of weeks, the zoom events, and other happenings, I am excitedly waiting in anticipation and anxiety. The constant bombarding thoughts of being in an Asian space and wondering “will they know? can they tell?” will always be present. I remember a term for it in social work school described as “the spotlight effect”. Just because the reality is not what’s perceived in my anxious brain, does not mean that my feelings, hopes, and fears are not valid.
In our little Manhattan apartment we’ve decided to make our home, we’re kicking off the celebrations with a luncheon on Sunday. I have no clue what it will entail. I’m grateful nonetheless for the compassion my roommate has shown me and the pride of generations before her that shine through her kindness. She being the outstretched hand and the bridge I needed to finally make that leap and explore what I lost.
