30: 春节

To my dear readers, I must apologize (yet again) for not posting anything in a while. After my two-and-a-half week trip, I was on a high that I never felt before, and of course, it was followed by a low of absolute goddamn-it-I’m-not-travelling-anymore apathy. A build up of crazy up and down events ensured that I wouldn’t have the time to contemplate and actually sit down and write something. Ironically, I’m still on this week’s roller coaster (I just moved into a guest house, but this Sunday I officially move into my actual dorm), but I finally had enough hot water in the shower to contemplate my next blog post. That said; please enjoy my newest blog post! And I promise there will be more to come (city posts and regular culture posts!).

Last Christmas, my family hosted a Chinese student for the holidays. He’s studying at UCSD and didn’t want to go home for whatever reason, so we invited him over for Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner. I remember thinking how strange it must seem to him, with a tree in the room that’s decorated, and we all feast on food while talking about this fat dude with a beard who breaks into our house and gives us presents. I was excited that I would have the opposite experience: I would be an American in China for Chinese New Year, which was one of the main reasons why I wanted to stay for fall and spring semesters.
Well, when Spring Festival (Chinese New Year in China is written as 春节, which literally translates as Spring Festival. I’m going to use this for the rest of the blog, and I’ll explain it more in depth later) rolled around, it was shaping up to be a depressing one. The busy Beijing that I knew slowly changed into a ghost town, as the town’s 20 million residents dwindled to a humble 10 million. The restaurants in the lively hutongs next to my apartment closed down one by one, as people returned home to Xi’an, Chengdu, and Nanjing. Smog rolled in thick, thicker than it had ever been. It was to the point where I could taste it and the smell wouldn’t leave my nose even after I retreated into my apartment. The Beijing winter was hitting hard, and after balmy, warm Kunming, this San Diego boy was getting sad. I was fighting 3 or 4 different colds that my immune system had managed to stave off until I was able to relax in my own room. I was not looking forward to this holiday.
Laurence texted me on January 22nd, asking me if I wanted to come over for a Spring Festival dinner at KFC (the only thing open!) and then to hang out with her friends and watch some fireworks. Of course, I wanted to leave my apartment, so I went over to her university. I noticed something: the smog was clearing up and it was a beautiful day. I saw a deep blue that I hadn’t seen in a long time, and it was promising. When I got there, she and I walked down to KFC. On the way there, we saw no less than 10 separate groups of people setting off fireworks. We could tell by the flashes on the buildings nearby, or the fireworks themselves. The popping and booming reverberated down the street. It was a surreal experience. I jokingly texted my friend, “How do you say Sarajevo in Chinese?” Being with Laurence cheered me up, and she invited me along with her to go hang out with her new friends from the program. We met up with some friends at her dorm and then started the trek over to her other friend’s apartment. On the walk there, there were yet more fireworks being popped off, from different areas around us. There were people setting off firecrackers, which are the ones you associate with China – the loud constant popping with bright white flashes, people setting off fireworks like the ones you see on July 4th, and little kids running around with sparklers. I was slowly letting the euphoric spirit of the holiday take me over. Once we got to her friend’s apartment, there was beer and jiaozi. Of course, I had a few and by the time everyone was ready to go out onto the main street and set off our own fireworks, I was pretty tipsy but excited for the fireworks. You’d think that after a few hours all the fireworks would stop, but nope. The walk back to campus (where there was a bridge overlooking many hotels that put on firework shows for their guests) was even crazier than the walk to the apartment. More and more fireworks were being set off. By the time we got to the bridge, the entire street was lit up with fireworks. I can’t even put into words what it was like; there were just constant fireworks everywhere. From our vantage location on the bridge, we were a good 500 feet away from most of the fireworks (I’m really bad with guesstimating, but it was not like July 4th, where you’re far away from the locations they set off the fireworks). Despite it being less than 20 degrees, I felt warm. The fireworks symbolize Daoist gods scaring away the bad fortune of the old year and welcoming in the gods of the new year, and in a way it helped scare off my apathy and moodiness about the holiday.
I emailed my parents about Spring Festival and I used the term I’m using right now instead of Chinese New Year. My dad replied to me, saying he thought it was weird that they called it Spring Festival, when it was nowhere near spring nor was it even anything close to it on the lunar calendar. I agreed with him, but then again, I’m in China. There was probably an answer, but I just had to look harder for it and it probably still wouldn’t make sense to me. However, from that night on, I felt much more optimistic and upbeat. The sense of warm and amazement I felt that night kept me glowing for days. I know this sounds like cheesy shit, but really, I now understand why they call it Spring Festival. It’s kind of like saying, ‘well, things can only go up from here.’ And here’s to hoping that it does for me!