By Lily Fang
For most of my life, the honest answer was: not much. And if you’re someone who feels a weird mix of distance and longing around this time of year (like you’re not “enough” of anything) then you’ll probably get what I mean.
When I think about Lunar New Year, I usually feel nothing—no excitement, no resentment, just blank. That’s a strange thing to admit, especially when it’s supposed to be a holiday about family, luck, and togetherness. Growing up, holidays were times when teachers would decorate the classroom with paper cutouts and classmates buzzed about reunion plans. But as one of maybe two or three Asian Americans in my elementary school classroom, no one really talked about Lunar New Year.
When late January/early February rolled around, my mom would make me FaceTime my grandparents in China and gather the family to watch Chun Jie Wan Hui on a random school night. It didn’t feel like a holiday. To me, it honestly just felt like my mom forcing me to hang out with my family on a regular day.
This year was different. When Discovery Day rolled around and my red envelopes from overseas blessed my bank account, I felt an unexpected homesickness. Lunar New Year didn’t mean much when it was a day celebrated with the same three people I live with everyday. But now it reminds me of them—and it reminds me that “not much” was never the same thing as “nothing.”
So I started wandering the halls in the evenings, asking people what Lunar New Year meant to them, because I couldn’t quite find the right words for myself.
For some people, it’s simple and joyful: as Isabella Bai ‘27 put it, it’s “a time to celebrate the New Year and eat good food.” For others, it’s luck and heritage. Lydia Le ‘26 described it as “a celebration that brings good luck and connects us back to our Asian culture,” especially as a way to celebrate her family’s Vietnamese roots.
And of course, there’s the part everyone jokes about but still means something. Isabella said Lunar New Year holds “a very high value” because she gets money, then immediately added, “it’s about family and friends.” She even explained the logic: “the more family and friends you have, the more money you get.” It was funny but it also made me realize how money isn’t really the point. It’s proof you have people. It’s a tradition that physically shows up in your hands.
Summer Chu ‘27 described Lunar New Year as the time she calls her extended family overseas and how it’s a moment when her family reconnects over familiar rituals like food and New Year’s performances. On campus, she said it was quieter: “I called my grandparents on WeChat…my mom sent me a red pocket over WeChat, and that was about it.” That line hit me because it captured the strange compression of culture at boarding school. Traditions normally celebrated at home don’t disappear, they just shrink to fit the time and space you have.
Other people found little ways to keep it alive here. Helen Chen ‘26 said she “DoorDashed some dumplings” because at home, her family would normally make something together—something “very different from here, because we don’t have time or materials.” Even then, she still wore red, because some traditions are portable. They follow you, even when everything else changes. Sophia Zhan ‘27 explained that at home her family has a big meal and hot pot, and her mom reminds her of traditions, but at school “I just do whatever I feel like.” Still, she said the holiday “brings me back to my roots and my ancestors” and teaches “respect to elders.”
Somewhere between those conversations, I realized Lunar New Year isn’t one single feeling. It can be loud, quiet, or almost ordinary. But underneath all of it is the same thread: a way of returning to something—family, heritage, luck, memory—even when you’re far from home.
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