Repost of an old blog:
When I was young, Chinese New Year meant more to me than the ‘Real’ New Year ever did. Never at a particular date (because it’s based on the Chinese calendar, which is in turn based on the phases of the moon, or something like that), Chinese New Year was always a surprise when it came along, and I was always delighted – remember how it felt when you were childishly delighted – by all the noise and mayhem.
Chinese New Year meant fireworks and dragons, red packets and moon cakes, costumes and dances, and that slow, sad Chinese melody played on the pipa. Continue reading