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on chinese new year - by john d. zhang - ordinary instants

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Today I attended a gathering for Chinese New Year’s Eve. Of my immediate family, only my mother and I were in attendance. My aunt and uncle hosted us in their compact apartment. Also in attendance were the family my aunt babysits for, and her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend. The boyfriend was white, and so was the father of the family my aunt works for. It was a daunting exercise in polyvocality: English, Mandarin, and Cantonese competed for dominance as we cracked jokes and told stories. My Chinese-American cousin and I were quizzed on the “meaning” of Chinese New Year. I watched with an embarrassing amount of envy as the half-white, half-Chinese children spoke better Mandarin than I probably ever will. It was a moment for celebrating heritage and history, and yet I walked away feeling irritated, mostly at myself. The day had started in a different tone. Earlier that morning, I had enjoyed helping my mom put up some decorations on our door, where we adhered three rectangular red

Today I attended a gathering for Chinese New Year’s Eve. Of my immediate family, only my mother and I were in attendance. My aunt and uncle hosted us in their compact apartment. Also in attendance were the family my aunt babysits for, and her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend. The boyfriend was white, and so was the father of the family my aunt works for. It was a daunting exercise in polyvocality: English, Mandarin, and Cantonese competed for dominance as we cracked jokes and told stories. My Chinese-American cousin and I were quizzed on the “meaning” of Chinese New Year. I watched with…

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