By Rebecca Zhong

Rebecca Zhong’s family never really celebrated Lunar New Year, because they were always too busy running their fish and chip shop in Whangaparāoa. 

In this piece, she reflects on being a second-generation immigrant who doesn’t feel connected to tradition, and grapples with the shame and curiosity on how to go forward.

It’s 7.35pm by the time I arrive at the shop. 

I immediately see 爸爸 (Bà ba: Dad) recklessly shaking frying baskets of chips as oil splatters on his forearm.

“Aren’t you closing the shop tonight? I thought that’s why you asked me to come so early,” I shout over the hum of the store ventilators.

“New Year’s Eve falls on Auckland Anniversary this year. It’s too busy, we’re going to close half an hour earlier. Just a few more orders,” 爸爸 replies with his back still turned to me.

妈妈(Mā ma: Mum) is at the back of the shop washing the last of the dishes. 

Her phone is propped up on a few old AA phone books while she video calls an Aunty from China. 

I can’t remember her name, but she’s quick to tell me that I look like I’ve gained some weight.

I tentatively smile and say “Gong Hei Fat Choy” in broken Cantonese.

On the other end, there are muted crackles of laughter and lanterns decorating the streets.

爸爸 wraps up the last order of the evening and hands me the parcel. 

Pointing to the car parked outside he says: “Two hotdogs and chips. Tell him Happy New Year. He gave us a box of Favourites. Heard about Lunar New Year through some ASB ad.”

*** 

In China, it is common to take at least a week off work or school for Lunar New Year, giving people ample time to indulge in the annual festivities. 

However for many immigrants, these celebrations are compressed and remoulded to suit their lifestyle overseas.

In 1997,  爸爸 opened up his Chinese restaurant in Whangaparāoa. 

After receiving little appetite from hanging roast duck in the shop window, he decided to start selling sweet and sour pork instead. 

A few months later, 妈妈 followed suit by opening up a fish’n’chip store right beside him. 

We were the only Chinese family in an otherwise white neighbourhood.

 The teenage boys laughed when 妈妈 would forget her ‘r’s while calling out their orders. 

“Two cumb fish and chips.”

Family feast with parents, siblings and grandma. Photo: Supplied.

Our Lunar New Year celebrations have always been confined to a single family dinner outside of the shop’s peak hours.

After the dinner rush, 爸爸 would cook dishes for our family to share. While the dishes vary year to year, some hold permanent residency:  A whole steamed fish, poached chicken with the head and roast duck.

The shop would stay open to serve the remaining customers. 

After placing their orders, their watchful stares would trail off into the chicken’s beady eyes.

 ***

For many Chinese diasporas, celebrating Lunar New Year is a way to feel rooted in tradition and to express our cultural identity. 

But for me, there is an overwhelming sense of not knowing how to reconnect.

For my parents, the shop mirrors their immense desire to escape economic and social hardship. 

Something that would be impossible for them to achieve back in Guangdong. 

Rebecca and her three siblings in their family restaurant after Lunar New Year dinner (from left: Raymond, Wendy and Annie) Photo: Supplied

However, the shop leaves little room for anything else, including holding onto what they  understand as being home. 

Cultural identity was never an afterthought for my parents, but rather, cultural identity has never been a primary component of their immigrant dream. 

Each year, I will think about asking my parents what New Years was like growing up in China. 

I will decide that it is uncharacteristic and choose not to.

***

Last Lunar New Year, I spent hours watching YouTube videos on how other families celebrate. 

Longevity noodles made a regular appearance. Extra-long noodles signify both long life and good luck. 

It’s important that these noodles stay intact while cooking as broken noodles will invite the exact opposite.

The noodles 爸爸 makes are choppy and bite-sized because he has to make all the dishes quickly after working in the shop. 

The customs and traits that come with Lunar New Year were never passed onto my siblings or me. 

There is a sense of uneasiness and guilt attached to reclaiming parts of your identity that you have religiously resented and suppressed.

As I scroll through Instagram, it is easy to feel upset by how other people celebrate Lunar New Year. I feel somehow deeply nostalgic for an experience that I’ve never quite had. 

But at the same time, it is warming to see how widely represented it is.

Several months ago, I stumbled across a tweet by writer Bo Ren. 

Part of the privilege that comes with being a second-generation immigrant is that I’m afforded the space to sit here and be upset. 

My parents and I share two very different realities. 

While they have been forced to put aside their cultural identity — I am encouraged to reconcile and reclaim. 

Rebecca Zhong (24 years old, Tāmaki Makaurau) works as the editorial assistant at NZ Listener. She enjoys roaming the snack aisles of Tai Ping, overpriced nut butters and heated discussions about why Taylor Swift’s Reputation doesn’t suck.

Top image: Rebecca being carried by her Dad at the front of their fish'n'chip shop, Supplied.

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