Category Archives: Customs

Customs, conventions, and traditions of a group

Asking Mom If It’s a Good Day for a Haircut

Text: My friend AH, who has on multiple occasions described himself as “not religious” and does not actively observe Hindu practice, casually mentioned that he needed a haircut and added that he had to text his mom first to find out whether the day was a good day to get one. When I pressed him on what made a day good or bad for haircuts, he was vague and unsure: something his mom kept track of, something about certain days being unlucky. He did not subscribe to the system or the belief but thought it worth it to ask. 

Context: AH’s family is Tamil (South India), and he has been raised in California. He identifies as essentially secular but retains a small handful of inherited practices that he observes operationally even if he doesn’t subscribe to the backing religion. Checking on haircut days is one of them. His mother keeps the schedule, and he checks by texting her. 

Analysis: I became curious of the schedule AH is alluding to, I pulled most of the following from online resources. The Tamil Hindu framework rests on the panchangam, the almanac that maps each weekday to a planetary deity. Tuesday (Sevvāy/Mars) and Saturday (Sani/Saturn) are the days most strictly avoided: Tuesday because Mars is held to govern blood and vitality, and Saturday because of an old rule that a Saturn-day haircut shortens one’s life by seven months. The folkloric move here is AH’s deferral to his mother: a Hindu astrological ritual surviving in California as a text message to mom, with the operational practice shifted from the individual consulting an almanac or priest to a son texting his mom, who functions as a keeper of the schedule. This is a common pattern in diaspora households: the ritual knowledge stays with the older generation of the family, but those born into the new setting struggle to internalize the framework as well. In AH’s case he explains that he is not doing it necessarily because he believes in it, but more out of respect for his mother and her beliefs. 

年年有余: A Fish for the New Year, and Not to Flip It

Text: On Chinese New Year eve my family eats a whole fish for dinner. The rule, as enforced by my mother IW, is that we must eat the fish from the top down. We never flip the fish over. To flip the fish, 翻 (fān), invokes 翻船 (fānchuán), to capsize a boat. If you flip the fish, you’re putting yourself at increased risk of capsizing your boat in the following year (valid for car analog also). Halfway through the meal, once the top side has been eaten down to the bone, we carefully lift out the spine in one piece and lay it aside, exposing the meat of the underside. The fish doubles as a pun in Chinese: 年年有余 (nián nián yǒu yú), translating to “may every year have surplus,” works because 余 (yú, surplus) sounds like 鱼(yú, fish). Hence “may every year have fish”. The fish must remain partially uneaten at the end of the meal, leaving leftovers for the next day (the first day of the new year) to literalize the surplus. 

Context: My mother, IW, grew up in a suburb of Beijing and has not deviated from the tradition since. She has done it every Lunar New Year I can remember. We typically have two fish over the holiday: one served on New Year’s Eve and another on New Year’s Day, we call the second fish leftovers even though I’m not sure that’s how it works traditionally. The fish at our table is most often halibut, this is tangential to the tradition and just a habit my family has fallen into (I think Costco has a good deal on halibut around that time), the strict tradition would call for carp or sea bass. 

Analysis: Two folkloric mechanisms run in parallel inside one piece of food. The first is homophonic word-magic: 鱼sounds like 余, so the fish itself becomes a small, uttered wish for surplus, and the requirement that some of it remain for the next day extends the wish across the new-year boundary. Homophonic mechanisms like this are common in Chinese culture, an artifact of the language’s limited distinct syllables that lend to a high density of homophones. The second: flipping the fish, enacts, in miniature, the boat-capsizing it warns against, and the taboo presumes the small gesture is continuous with the larger outcome. The careful spine-lift halfway through dinner is the practical accommodation of the rule, with the skeleton removed in one piece so every side of the fish can be reached without ever turning it over. The capsizing prohibition is, in origin, a coastal-fisherman’s taboo that has been carried into Lunar New Year practice throughout China, and in our household, a boat-less one, it has been extended to cars. Strict tradition can involve carp (鲤 puns with 利, profit), the species drift to halibut in my family is folkloric variation. 

Tomb Sweeping Day [Qingming Festival] Rituals

Age: 19

Text:

Tomb Sweeping Day, or [Qingming Festival] in Chinese, is a traditional, nation-wide festival that usually takes place in April. It is typically when we would go to sweep the tombs of our deceased ancestors and honor the family members who passed away by just cleaning their tombs, bringing food to their tombs, and sometimes burning fake money in front of their tombs.

These acts related to this traditional festival carry their own symbolic meanings. For example, burning money—typically, it will be fake paper money—is a gesture of providing basic needs in life, or ensuring the material needs, for our ancestors. We will also put food like fruits, desserts, and nuts, or anything that the deceased loved to eat, on top of their tomb. This, symbolically, allows them to enjoy the food they like to eat and enjoy the material well-being we as descendants provide for them in the afterlife. I think that through these acts of giving, or offering, of material things, we are trying to give back to our ancestors who passed away the way they took care of us before. And so our ancestors wouldn’t have to worry about not having enough food to eat or money to spend in their afterlife.

This, to me, is also a way of expressing reassurance—a way of telling them (the deceased ancestors) that we are having a good, decent, and dignified life, and we are making genuine efforts in our lives as independent and capable individuals—so here’s the proof: we are making our own money, and we are buying you food, so no need to worry about us!

Family members typically gather together to visit the tombs of their ancestors. Some families, like mine, would typically talk to our deceased loved ones in front of the tomb. We would update them about our recent lives, like our progress at school or at work, just like having an everyday chat with them when they were here, right in front of us. Finally, at the end of this tomb sweeping ritual, we express kind words and blessings to them in their own world.

Context:

The informant learned this ritual by participating in this festival every year, visiting the graves of ancestors with his family since he was a child. As time passes by, he begins to remember the important steps of this ritual, such as burning paper money and talking to the graves as if speaking to ancestors. He thinks that this festival is meaningful in the sense that it allows everyone who participates in its rituals to remember their loved ones who have passed away, and show them care.

Analysis:

  • Death and afterlife: The Tomb Sweeping Day (Qingming) rituals reflect the Chinese’s beliefs about death and afterlife in their culture—people believe that when someone passes, they don’t end their life entirely, and instead, they are just living in a different space and dimension, in their afterlife. This belief in “afterlife” has many cultural origins, including, possibly, Buddhism’s impact in China.
  • Performance: This ritual is performed by a family, with all family members, as a group. This makes tomb sweeping on Tomb Sweeping Day almost a familial thing. This reflects unity and family harmony’s importance in the Chinese culture. In addition, the performance of this ritual—showing up, bringing food, and burning money—is an act of showing respect for the deceased ones in a symbolic (not material) way. Even though the “food” and “money” cannot get to the deceased ones on a material level, on an emotional level, it is an effective way of showing love and care.

“Shit Damn Motherfucker” – Theatre Ritual

Text: “Shit damn motherfucker / motherfucker damn / this dumb bitch just stole my man / got to find another fucker better than the other fucker / shit damn motherfucker / motherfucker damn”

Context: HC is a Theatre BA at USC, and has performed / participated in many musicals on campus.

HC: I first encountered “shit damn motherfucker” during MTR’s Fun Home, my first show at USC. If I’m remembering correctly, the seniors taught it to us. You repeat it three or four times, starting really quiet and getting really, really loud, like shouting and jumping all together. It’s like– a way for the cast to get energized and pumped for the performance. From then on… I believe I’ve done it before every USC production I’ve been a part of? It just gets passed down by word of mouth by those who’ve done shows at USC before, which I think is very special. I love it, because it gets everyone connected, grounded, and really free before a show. I think it’s like… a way to get the cast out of their heads and into their bodies. Allowing them to be present and prepared for the work they’re about to do!

Analysis: I agree with HC’s analysis of this–I think the ridiculousness of the tradition allows for an outlet for nerves. It’s a reminder to not catastrophize or overthink–instead allowing the actors to have fun, jump, scream, swear in their friends’ faces, and get adrenaline up for the performance. Similar to a lot of pre-show rituals for theatre, it’s a unifying experience, and something of a reset for the entire group before undertaking a practiced performance.

Pre-show ritual – Will Bundy

Text:

CS: We would gather… usually it was before every opening. We would all gather together, um, like, everyone on the crew. And the stage manager, who would be calling the show, would say a prayer to the theatre gods. And we would all have out hands on their head in a circle around them. And then they would say like, “I just hope this show goes well, everyone did so good…” usually it was something along those lines. And once they were done, we would all raise up our arms and go “whoooooooa, Bundy!”

Context: CS is a college student in Southern California who attended an arts high school in Santa Ana. This school had conservatories focused on different art forms, and CS was in Production & Design (P&D), which focused on technical theatre and design elements in live performance.

CS: I have been told conflicting things.My brother, he says that it’s like how in The Mighty Ducks, the movies, they would say “quack, quack!” Like, that’s our “quack, quack.” But, um, the lore that I was told is that Will Bundy was the first P&D student admitted to Production & Design. Like, top of the roster, “B,” Bundy, top of the alphabetical order. And so we’re like, honoring him by saying Will Bundy. And it’s either “whoa, Bundy,” or “Will Bundy,” depending on who you ask.

Analysis:

I think this is a very interesting pre-show ritual. It contains some marks of common pre-show theatre rituals–the standing in a circle, touching hands, a “leader” figure within the group saying some kind of affirmation or “prayer” hoping for a good show, as well as recognizing the work of the people around them–but the chant is one I’ve never heard before. I think the supposed connection to the first student of the program is very sweet, and represents a kind of honoring of the work of the students of the program through all the years of its existence. It’s almost a celebration of the technical theatre program and all the unrecognized work that these students would do.