Tag Archives: Lunar New Year

年年有余 (nian nian you yu)- Chinese Proverb

Text: 年年有余 (nian nian you yu)- which translates to “year after year, may you have abundance in your life”

Informant: “I know this proverb because my mom said it my whole life, it’s like a blessing and we say it for lunar new year. You eat fish when it’s the new year because of the play on words of “yu.” Fish and surplus are both pronounced the same. There’s also rules on how you eat the fish too, you’re not supposed to flip the fish over, if you flip it over, it’s like your ship capsizes. So you eat the top half and then you pull out the bones and then you eat the bottom half.”

Context:

The informant learned this proverb from their mother while growing up in a Chinese household. Their family would say it during Lunar New Year as a blessing for abundance and prosperity, often when serving the traditional New Year fish dish.

Analysis:

This proverb reflects a culture that places deep value on longevity and stability, prioritizing sustained fortune over short-term success. What makes the proverb unique is its wordplay, which allows it to function as a spoken blessing, pun, and ritual. Folk speech and verbal folklore like this is especially common in Chinese culture because the language contains many homophones, so different characters can share the same pronunciation but carry drastically different meanings. Thus, meaning is not only conveyed through definition, but through sound, and language itself can hold symbolic power.

Vietnamese New Year Celebration “Tet” Traditions

Context:

My informant is a 56-year-old woman of Vietnamese descent. She was born and raised in Vietnam, and immigrated to the United States when she was young. She was raised Buddhist, surrounded by Vietnamese culture and traditions, passed down from the generations of her family.

Text:

In Vietnamese culture, lunar new year is celebrated with a celebration called Tết. This celebration is often multiple days long.

The first day of Tết starts on the day before the start of lunar new year on New Year’s Eve. You are supposed to cook food and offer it to the altar to bring home your ancestors for the New Year. Her mom also waits for midnight to come and offer food and pray to the ancestors. The family also visits temple to ring in the New Year at midnight. 

On the second day of Tết, New Year’s Day, the family would cook food to offer to the altar again to send off the ancestors. Prayers are also involved. They again visit a temple to pray for a good, healthy year. 

On the last day of Tết, they visit families and relatives, to offer good wishes and give red money envelopes to younger children and young adults. It is also encouraged to visit ancestors at their gravesites to wish them well.

The celebrations and activities might go on for longer, but the three days are considered Tết.

Analysis:

Tết combines many forms of folklore together such as ritual, superstition, and material folklore. There is the ritual of going to temple, to cooking, and visiting family on specific days every year. There are also the superstitions of what day to do each action in order to bring prosperity and good luck into their homes in the new year. Then the food and red envelopes are material folklore that they use to bring wealth and prosperity.

The Hidden Meaning Behind Spring Festival Customs in Northeast China

Age: 53

“During the first fifteen days of the Lunar New Year, there are certain things you’re not allowed to do. No sweeping the floor, no needlework. When I was young I just thought these were old rules, traditional customs that everyone followed without much explanation. But later I heard it from your grandfather. He said the real reason behind it is actually for the women. Women are busy all year long, doing every kind of housework you can think of. So those fifteen days of not sweeping, not doing needlework, it was actually just a way to give them a break.

And then there’s the dumplings. In families like your grandfather’s, before the New Year even starts, everyone would get together and make huge batches of dumplings, enough to fill these enormous vats, about waist-high, big wide ones. In the Northeast you can just leave them outside to freeze, so they keep. The idea was the same. So that during the holiday, the women wouldn’t have to be in the kitchen cooking big meals every day. You just boil some dumplings. It’s like a fast food solution, really.

Looking back at all of this now, it’s actually a set of practices designed to protect women, or at least give them a little breathing room.”

Context: This account was shared in a casual family conversation, with the informant recounting customs observed during the Spring Festival in a northeastern Chinese household. The informant recalled being told the reasoning behind these practices by an older family member, specifically the maternal grandfather, who reframed what had always seemed like arbitrary traditional rules as deliberate, if unspoken, gestures of consideration toward women in the household. The conversation had a warm, reflective tone, with the informant noting that this interpretation only became clear in retrospect.

Analysis: What makes this piece especially compelling is the gap between how these customs are experienced and what they were apparently designed to do. On the surface, the prohibitions against sweeping and needlework during the first fifteen days of the Lunar New Year look like straightforward ritual taboos, the kind of rules passed down without explanation, simply because that’s how it’s always been done. But as the informant’s grandfather reframed it, the logic was never mystical. It was practical and protective: a built-in rest period for women whose labor was otherwise unceasing.

The mass dumpling-making tradition carries the same quiet logic. Filling enormous vats with pre-made, freezable dumplings before the holiday begins is, as the informant puts it, essentially a form of meal prep, a way to reduce the domestic burden during a period officially designated as celebration. The fact that this required collective effort before the holiday, and yielded convenience during it, reflects a kind of community-level care that operated below the surface of festive ritual.

Together, these customs illustrate how folklore can encode social values in ways that aren’t immediately legible, even to the people practicing them. The meaning doesn’t disappear just because it goes unspoken. It gets carried forward in the practice itself, waiting to be named.

This entry was posted in Calendar Custom, Festival, Domestic Life, Folk Belief and tagged Spring Festival, Lunar New Year, Northeast China, women, dumplings, household customs, folk practice.

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. 

Seollal (Korean New Year)

Text:

Seollal is the first day of the Lunar New Year in Korea. On Seollal, you bow to your elders, play games, and visit your hometowns. Seollal(설날) is the Korean New Year, usually falling in mid-February. It is one of Korea’s biggest holidays, with many people taking several days off of work to spend time with families. Often, people travel back to their hometowns or visit family members/in-laws. There is also a ritual called sebae(세배), where people bow deeply before their elders and wish them a happy new year and good fortune, and in turn the elders give them money in envelopes.

Context:

The informant, having lived in Korea their whole life, participated in Seollal every year. At first, they were the ones to bow to their elders and receive money, but as they grew older, they began to be the ones to sit as their younger family relatives bowed.

Interpretation:

There is a lot of emphasis on filial piety, and more than that, respect for your elders and your ancestors. For example, you lay out food for your ancestors at the table or a memorial/shrine. I feel like there is a major emphasis on Confucian piety in Korean culture, as well as a reminder of the strength found in community. When you bow to your elders on Seollal, it is more than a bow–you are literally on your knees, head on the ground, essentially showing utmost reverence and respect for the elders’ wisdom and impact on your life. You(as the younger person) have the responsibility to visit your hometown, your origin, not the other way around, showing the idea that you never truly leave your family behind, which is a foundational concept in Confucianism. Through this practice, families reaffirm their connection to the past and show gratitude and respect to their ancestors and elders.

Foods like tteokguk (rice cake soup) are essential to Seollal. Eating tteokguk is believed to symbolically grant one a year of age, connecting food rituals to the passage of time. Furthermore, traditional clothing like the hanbok and folk games like yutnori also play a role, reinforcing cultural identity and intergenerational learning. This latter point is especially important; as Korea quickly evolves to match the demands of modernity, many traditional aspects of Korea’s culture are at risk of disappearing or losing their value. By participating in holidays such as Seollal, families are teaching the future generation the importance of remembering their history and culture.