1

        There are many uncertainties with the Lunar New Year. I fear the visiting, the mandatory pleasantries, and the overwhelming use of red; the red of firecrackers, the red of the greeting cards, and the red packets. I fear the greetings, the auspicious words, because I fear the people. To be more precise, I fear meeting those that I only see once a year. I dread the obligatory exchanges, the hollow “Happy New Year” and “May all your wishes come true” that feel so empty, so superficial, so insincere.

        The colour red itself fills me with unease; its inherent anxiety far outweighing any festive joy. The firecrackers terrify me, their noise, their stimulation, their potential for danger and trouble. The red cards are simply tacky, and the red packets…

        The colour red is certainly part of the reason, but the problem runs deeper. In the recent years, I have read books on psychological counselling, gaining insight into the root of many adult behaviours, many stemming from childhood experiences. This has inevitably led me to ponder my own anxieties……

2

        My fear of red packets stems from my own repressed and restrained childhood during the Lunar New Years. Even though I received many red packets, they never contained that much. During my school years, they could never satisfy my materialistic wants. My mother repeatedly explained that if a Cantonese person gives a thick red packet, it was a sign of disrespect, signifying the recipient’s poverty and stinginess. Regardless of whether this saying came from tradition, or if it was simply a form of consolation, I felt a sense of inferiority in school. When teachers or classmates asked about my red packet haul, I would vaguely reply: “My mother keeps the money; it hasn’t been settled yet.”

        With such small amounts from the red packets, I never truly looked forward to the New Year. The prospect of using this “windfall” to satisfy my material desires, even for something as simple as a model airplane or a set of “Journey to the West” comics was bleak, and thus over time my desire for red packets faded.

3

        My lower secondary school years were a time of yearning for growth and recognition. My newly married uncle and aunt came to pay their New Year’s greetings. After the customary pleasantries, my uncle suggested to my mother that they abolish the “bad habit” of exchanging red packets with children. He argued that it would breed envy and greed, turning children materialistic and corrupting their innocent hearts.

        My Uncle, a well-educated man with a fine hand in calligraphy, had his own unique perspective on traditional etiquette. My mother was stunned, uncertain of how to react. She did not want to argue with her brother about the red packets, but she also did not want to break a tradition that had lasted for decades. As she struggled to find a solution, our family’s nanny, Xiao Jie, raised her right hand in exasperation, shouting, “Nonsense! No red packets during the New Year? That’s a sign of bad luck!”

Xiao Jie, who had worked for our family for decades, had raised my uncle. After my grandmother’s family split, she came to help us. At over sixty years old, she was respected for her wisdom. Her voice carried weight, making her an authoritative figure. No one dared to disobey.

        Although my uncle handed out red packets, I felt uncomfortable, guilty, and ashamed whenever I received one from someone else.

        Why did a simple red packet create such unease? Just a small red packet; why did it need to be so complicated? I considered myself raised in a family that did not place much value on money, and I was never petty about it. Yet, why did it cause misunderstanding and arguments?

        I fear red packets because I fear being hurt. I fear them because of my innate sensitivity, something that I cannot change. I fear them because I fear a world filled with manipulation. I fear them because they resemble red greeting cards. I fear them because they resemble the red firecrackers. I fear them because they are red!

4

        I dread the mundaneness of life, but still I am trapped. I am always afraid of the Lunar New Year, yet I cannot run away from it.

        For many years, my uncle, the advocate for change, has stopped visiting every household for New Year's greetings. With our family members expanding, my courtyard is never empty.

        Last year, a guest whom we had not seen for a long time paid us a visit. My mother excitedly called me out hiding from my study, repeatedly asking, "Do you remember? Do you remember this uncle?" I shyly nodded. It was Uncle Hao, a distant relative on my mother's side.

        Among my many relatives, Uncle Hao probably had the lowest level of education. In his youth, he was muscular and self-reliant, riding his motorcycle to my grandmother's house every Sunday to help out. During the weekday he worked at a hardware shop owned by my grandfather. On Sundays, he bathed the dogs, treated their sores, cleaned the pigeon coop, and dug up lotus roots from the pond. In our eyes, he possessed an indescribable charm and earthy quality.

        Time flew by, and Uncle Hao was now in his sixties. He still had thick eyebrows and gleaming eyes, and a gold tooth twinkled when he smiled. But his body had noticeably thinned.

        A few days before, I had heard my mother say that Uncle Hao had been diagnosed with an incurable cancer and had been in and out of the hospital. Why was he not staying home to recuperate? Why was he out doing New Year visiting?

I poured him tea and offered him a box of fruit.

        Then I sat quietly beside him as he reminisced with my mother. He mentioned that he would be visiting his childhood friends in Kuala Lumpur and Penang in a few days.

        A sick man, nearing the end of his life, yet he was so full of zest, so engaged, so carefree, so full of joy. I was deeply moved. His family did know about his dire condition, but did he know? Was he aware?

        As he left, he handed me a red packet.

        "No need. I’m grown up," I declined.

        "Do take it. As your elder, it’s a must," he insisted.

        I held his hand, wishing him good health and a long life with all my heart. Then, I accepted the red packet.

        The red packet was wrapped with sadness. We both had an unspoken premonition. The red, the colour of unease, pulsed through my blood, pounding against my heart, relentless and frantic.

5

        Not long after the Lunar New Year, Uncle Hao left us.

        I did not attend his funeral, but my uncle, the one who was opposed to tradition, did. My mother told me about it.

At the altar, my uncle wept uncontrollably, his heart shattered.

        My mother said, "I've rarely seen a grown man cry so terribly."

        It turned out that my uncle was not as heartless as he seemed. A wave of warmth washed over me. I tried to hide my emotions and calmly said, "It's because Uncle Hao was honest and straightforward."

        My mother shook her head and sighed.

We did not say anything more.

6

        This year, the Lunar New Year flowers filled the house. The courtyard was decorated with chrysanthemums, orchids, and water plum blossoms. In the sitting room, elegant lilies stood alongside the humble and reserved narcissus, a gift from a friend.

        As always, the living room was bustling with activity, guests and hosts exchanging greetings of "Happy New Year" and "May all your wishes come true."

        I know that I won't see the gold tooth again this year. But I will always remember that visit, both a New Year's greeting and a farewell.

        Thankfully, there is the New Year. Thankfully, there are New Year's greetings. Thankfully, there are greeting cards. Thankfully, there is the tradition of auspicious words. Thankfully, there are red packets.

        And so, I can meet Uncle Hao. And so, I can meet those I see only once a year, and listen to their stories from the past year. And so, we can refresh our memories of them. And so, we can exchange those somewhat impractical auspicious words. We can shake their hands, feel the sweat on their palms, and feel the warmth. And so, I can inject some gentleness, triviality, fussiness, vagueness, sloppiness, primitiveness, simplicity, and kindness into my overly refined and polished city life.

        Suddenly, I think of my cynical uncle. I wonder if he will celebrate the New Year this year? I wonder if he will give out red packets? I wonder if he will come over to pay us a visit?

        If only life could be simple, like red being just red, and red packets are just red packets.

        I remember my uncle's beautiful calligraphy. If he comes, I will grind the ink and ask him to write a couplet for my house...…