Staying awake to welcome the New Year

(NB&CL) As a child, the greatest joy was undoubtedly Tet (Lunar New Year). Every moment was joyful starting from the afternoon of the thirtieth day of the lunar month. However, the most joyful and emotionally fulfilling moment for me was still New Year's Eve!

I don't know why I felt that way. My older sister, acting all knowledgeable, explained: because New Year's Eve also means… Tet (Lunar New Year)! The reason sounded obvious at first. However, that very obviousness contained an… unclear element. Why does Tet have to wait until New Year's Eve? On the afternoon of the thirtieth of the twelfth lunar month, we had already eaten the year-end feast; the village roads and alleys were adorned with flags and flowers; every house's gramophone was playing cheerful spring songs: Tet, Tet, Tet is coming, Tet is in everyone's heart… That atmosphere clearly showed that Tet was over, so why wait until New Year's Eve? In short, I don't know the real reason; but – deep down – we always assumed that New Year's Eve was something very… special, sacred; so – to have a complete Tet, – we had to stay awake to welcome it at all costs!

Every year, on New Year's Eve, before going to bed, I would repeatedly tell my mother, "Remember to wake me up!" I'm a sleep-loving child, used to going to bed early. But that's on ordinary days; New Year's Eve is different. It only happens once a year, how could I possibly go to bed early! I remember the first year I knew about New Year's Eve, I tentatively asked my mother to wake me up, but she scolded me, "You're just a child, go to bed early so you'll grow up quickly, what's all this fuss about New Year's Eve! " I pouted, "No, I want to celebrate New Year's Eve! If you don't wake me, I'll wake up myself..."

To be honest, on New Year's Eve, I tried my best to find something to do to keep myself entertained until midnight. After playing for a while, I looked at the clock and saw that the clock was still... miles away! Seeing me dozing off, my mother took pity on me and "gave in": "Okay, go to sleep, I'll wake you up at midnight!" Overjoyed, I said "yes" loudly and dashed straight to bed, falling into a deep sleep. I slept soundly; when I opened my eyes, it was already... bright daylight! Crying and whining, I went to find my mother to complain. She said, "I called you several times, but you were still fast asleep, you wouldn't wake up!" I was annoyed but had to give in, knowing she was telling the truth. Learning from experience, in subsequent years I told her, "If I don't wake up at midnight, Mom, just... pinch me really hard!" My mother listened; she nodded and smiled, but couldn't bring herself to pinch me. She chose to wake me up by... tickling my side. It worked immediately because I'm very ticklish!

Back then, our village didn't have electricity. On New Year's Eve, we only lit lamps, but they were huge, "family heirloom" lamps that were usually kept carefully in a cupboard. On the thirtieth day of the lunar month, my father carefully carried the lamp out, meticulously cleaning it from the body to the shade, and filling the oil reservoir. He placed the enormous lamp in the center of the main altar, and as darkness fell, it lit up the house, which was usually shrouded in darkness. My sisters and I sat watching Mom arrange the cakes, watching Dad busily adjusting the altar, placing the cakes and fruits, lighting the incense, and watching the shadows of the whole family cast on the wall, moving back and forth as if we were watching... a movie.

Outside, it was pitch black and bitterly cold, a stark contrast to the warm, bright glow of the lamps inside. The fragrant smoke from three burning incense sticks wafted up, swirling around the shimmering details of the altar before gently drifting out the door. The smoke, like a fragile thread, connected two worlds , linking the cozy home with the (also silent and solemn) heaven and earth at the moment of New Year's Eve. The sisters waited patiently. Occasionally, impatient, one would nudge another and whisper, not daring to speak loudly. Finally, the incense burned out, and after their father bowed in gratitude, they took the plate of cakes from the altar. Strange; it was the same cakes and candies, but why did they always taste better at New Year's Eve? They rushed forward, scrambling to grab them as if afraid of being snatched away, and in no time, they were all gone. The youngest sister, half-asleep, stumbled upon a piece of spicy ginger candy, her face turning bright red. Yet, she only sniffed, not crying…

We grew up, left home, and no longer spent New Year's Eves together like we did when we were children. When I became a father, I also had to prepare for the New Year's Eve rituals. The difference is, now my children don't get excited about "celebrating New Year's Eve" anymore. Suddenly, I realize – for a long time now – that I've been the only one silently lighting incense on the ancestral altar on New Year's Eve, sitting alone…

Y Nguyen

Source: https://www.congluan.vn/thuc-don-giao-thua-post331240.html