January 29, 2017 | post-chowing
We’re on the second day of the lunar new year. Kids rejoice at red envelopes filled with money. Ancestors are honored and remembered. For the fortunate, tables are plenty with carbs and meats and sweets. In a legal zone, firecrackers go off, scaring away malicious spirits. These are facts I know about how Chinese new year is to be celebrated. And sadly, this is about the extent of my knowledge about the occasion.
This is a natural occurrence of assimilation into American culture and being removed from the country of my heritage. But even so, when my mom called and told me to cancel my haircut appointment, I did. Why?
“You’ll cut off all the good luck and longevity!”
Well, logic be damned, superstition wins this time. (It is logical that since my hair is long, it symbolizes my longevity…?) I can’t afford to cut off any luck, especially this year and the next few to boot. When could I reschedule it for?
“In about two weeks.” The lack of precision was made up for her utter conviction in this statement. I couldn’t argue with her. She meant well.
So here I am, counting down the days until I can get my sorely needed haircut. You see, I would love flowy Hollywood hair, but I’m at a stage in life where I can’t be bothered to spend much effort on dead keratin. My brain needs the work.
Also published on Medium.