by Anson Yu
Anson shares how three generations of his family celebrate Chinese New Year, each with their own unique traditions and memories.
Hong Kong is a city where East and West meet. Chinese New Year, also known as the Spring Festival or Lunar New Year, is the biggest celebration of the calendar in Hong Kong. This deeply cherished festival has a history of about 3,500 years, with traditions that have been carried through generation by generation. A look at my family, like many others, shows how each generation adapts to those traditions, depending on economic and social contexts.
In the 1960s, when Hong Kong was a city on the cusp of economic growth, traditions were still firmly held to fit the modest material comforts in a semi-conversative society. For example, we buy new clothes while trying to avoid buying shoes. This was because the Cantonese word for shoes (haai4) sounds like an expression of disappointment.
My grandparents have a strong association of food with Chinese New Year. My grandmother, in sharing her memories of Chinese New Year, told me about the enjoyment of the atmosphere of Tai Tat Tei, a bustling night market in Sheung Wan that later became a park. According to her, the place was “a poor man’s nightclub” filled with street performances and food stalls, where she devoured congee and fried crabs with her closest friends. “It’s the cherished memories I had there with my besties,” she recalled fondly, “that I think of every Chinese New Year.”
Meanwhile, my grandfather remembered eagerly anticipated visits to relatives, not just to renew familial connections, but for receiving “lai si,“ the auspicious red envelopes with lucky money. “With just a dollar, I could buy a lot of food. My favourite was Chaozhou Nao Kao pancakes from the street vendors.”
For them, like many other families, one tradition remained sacred: “hoi nin faan,” the first meal of the year. For my grandparents, this was the only time they could enjoy a proper Chinese feast, with luxuries like crispy fried chicken and steamed fish.
While food continued to play an important part of Lunar New Year, the 1990s, when my parents grew up, saw a more consumeristic element creep into the celebrations. Hong Kong was undergoing an economic transformation, and the unprecedented boom brought newfound luxuries to middle-class families.
For my mother, department stores with their irresistible New Year discounts on branded makeup and handbags were her go-to shopping places. My father, on the other hand, could be found with his friends in the lively bar districts of Lan Kwai Fong or Knutsford Terrace, counting down to the New Year. “It was so much fun,” he told me, with his eyes sparkling.
They both also enjoyed midnight cinema screenings with friends, though their tastes varied: with my mother a fan of Leslie Cheung and my dad a devotee of Stephen Chow. Beyond the allure of shopping sprees and dynamic late nights, my parents shared a special fondness for the simple pleasure of enjoying a hot cup of coffee while strolling along the Tsim Sha Tsui promenade during the New Year. “The view was stunning and even better than today because, of course, we were young and saw this world with rose-tinted glasses,” said my father.
The other traditions, like spring house cleaning or taking showers with pomelo leaves to remove bad luck and welcome good fortune, were not upheld by my parents. “The only tradition we kept was buying new clothes and even then, those weren’t ordinary, they were designer!” laughed my mother.
So, where does this place me? I see how my generation is embracing a renaissance of traditions and finding needed meaning in the old customs, beyond just superstitions. For us, it’s a conscious effort to connect with our roots and preserve our cultural heritage and a growing understanding that the traditions that have endured for millennia hold intrinsic value.
This year, our celebrations began in the early morning to witness the awe-inspiring dragon and lion dances at Ngong Ping Village. These performances featured acrobatics, resounding drumbeats, the clash of cymbals and the crackle of firecrackers — all intended to dispel misfortune and usher in property and good fortune. This was followed by a feast at a local yum cha establishment, where the atmosphere and experience of enjoying steaming baskets of delectable dim sum was unparalleled.
We also visited the iconic Wong Tai Sin Temple, a place believed to grant wishes and express gratitude. The temple itself, beyond the rituals, is an architectural masterpiece, with its towering red pillars, resplendent gold roof and intricate Chinese designs. Finally, the Lam Tsuen Well-Wishing Festival. Here, one could feel an undeniable sense of joy and optimism in writing down our aspirations, attaching them to an orange and launching them towards the wishing tree. The hope that our wishes suspended from the branches will hopefully become true added a touch of enchantment to the New Year.
Why, one may wonder, is my generation experiencing a resurgence of appreciation for Lunar New Year traditions that our parents had deviated from? I think it could be because just as fashion trends cycle back every couple of decades, we see these customs breathing life into the holidays and bridging our heritage with the modern world. Maybe it is that these traditional festivals preserve our identity as something unique that we can share even with those outside our culture. ■
Anson Yu, 17, is a “Hong Kong 200” alumnus and Annual Chamber Debate Club member of the HKFYG Leadership Institute. He enjoys badminton, photography, and public speaking.