Superstitious Morales

What not to do on Lunar New Year:

• Avoid taking medicine (x yikes @my daily dose of depression medication and birth control pills)
• Don’t sweep or take out garbage (x but it’s a daily chore!)
• Don’t eat porridge for breakfast (x oatmeal is, like, the only healthy thing I eat)
• Don’t wash clothes or hair (x I have oily hair- there can be no cheat days)
• Don’t wear white or black (x black is my entire wardrobe)
• Avoid being stolen (I mean, I’ll try not to get pick pocketed) 
• Avoid borrowing money (x I need money for food and I don’t have a job, so)
• Don’t wear damaged clothes (x half of my clothes are damaged)
• No killing (I’ll do my best)

While I would like to think I followed these quirky traditions and contributed towards being a good (adopted) Asian, I have broken most of these (superstitions) already for the Lunar New Year- Ox Edition / every *insert animal* Edition. 

These are pretty decent rules that anyone should live by on any day of the week. I shouldn’t borrow money, I should be making my own. I could just donate all of my damaged clothes. I really do need to incorporate more color into my wardrobe… So, why do all of these celebratory superstitions go amiss for me?

Perhaps it all started when every New Year meant ordering in Chinese takeout and maybe, sometimes on a very generous year, my family and I would hand out red envelopes to each other and friends. We don’t wear red, nor do our very sparse decorations ever have the correct New Year animal on them. Our house is consistently messy and spring cleaning has never been a thing. We never hear any fireworks because we live in a white neighborhood, and the only possible fireworks to potentially be set off would be for Valentines Day (yay, being single).

Although, now that I think of it, these past two years have been a pretty good excuse to become lazy and not uphold these Chinese New Year standards. With COVID, the valid argument not to visit those Trump supporting relatives is necessary to stay alive, so no need to venture further than the perimeter of our own house. With my mum fired from her job last year, she shouldn’t have to give any red envelopes. Family meals were an everyday thing (because, where else could we go?), too, therefore no need to commemorate one specific day towards it.

This week is the year of the ox- representing those who are kind, reliable, strong, and fair (thus, the year of Biden, versus last year’s animal, the cock, with Trump). It is sad to think that even with the humorous ambivalence and cutting slack that COVID has permitted, we are all very disconnected, not only as a family, but as an entire nation and world. However, if one thing should reign true is that we are all still the kind, strong, resilient people that we were prior to this pandemic. Lunar New Year lasts for sixteen days. I’m sure that within that time span, after pure reflection of years past, we can all find it in our hearts to remember to stay united, communicative, interpersonal, and value one another, and of course, no killing.