Vocal Point : Holiday marked by fish, reflection of days past

When it comes to New Year’s Eve celebration, I secretly think that my husband and I are as exciting as a sack of potatoes, or maybe not even, because when the old potatoes begin sprouting new growth, it could be an exciting sight.

Every New Year’s Eve, we would prepare a fine meal, ending with some kind of fish. It is mandatory every year that we have fish on the table, because that is what Chinese have on the Chinese New Year.

The word “fish” rhymes with “surplus” in Chinese. To have fish on the last day of the year is to wish for prosperity for the coming year. May you always have surplus in your life. I imagine this blessing, if not by tradition, at least by my own interpretation, extends to every aspect of one’s life, from money, to love, to friendship and good health. In all the years away from China, this is one thing that I carry with me and insist upon unfailingly every year. Every New Year’s Eve when I see the fish on the table, I am reminded again of who I am.

The other side of this insistence on fish is that I grew up in a fishing village on the other side of the Pacific, and in 28 years since I left I have been searching for the taste and smell of fish of my childhood but have never found it. And never will. For those fish have been regurgitated throughout the years in my mind and have long been buried and woven into a part of nostalgia that lives deep in the psyche instead of the dinner table. So to serve fish on New Year’s Eve is to call back the memories of my childhood and to be reminded again of the place I came from.

So every New Year’s Eve, after we have our fish, my mind is at ease. After the children were tucked into bed, my husband and I would take down the old calendar and look through every page, each day. There it is, our life in one year at a glance, meticulously recorded on each little square in the form of appointments, messages, play dates, parties, vacations, reminders. A journal of sort, as it turns out.

All the mundane happenings in our daily life become a journey into the past. We remember each day. And we are reminded of our emotions throughout the year. Some people keep meticulous records of their finances and can account for every dollar spent. In our case, I cannot explain where the money goes but I can account for most days gone by.

After our reflection and pondering on the year gone by we check how we have scored for the goals we set for the year and set new ones. As the years go by and the children grow, the goals become more and more modest, and the list becomes shorter and shorter. We set goals for the family; we set goals for each of us; we set goals for every aspect of our life. One year, my own personal goal was simply to beat the children to bed the best I could. Throughout the years these goals range as lofty as good will toward all men and as modest as a walk a day.

I look forward to this time every year. Instead of those glamorous parties we are missing, we look at our old calendar for entertainment and inspiration, and usher in the new year with a blueprint with the best guess we could fathom. Somehow this practice gives me a lot of comfort, a very good sense of direction walking into the unknown.

This year the occasion became a milestone. We decided the children are now old enough to join us in this tradition. So instead of being sent to bed as usual, they were invited to stay with us until midnight. Armed with pens and note pads, both boys were instructed to write down what they hope to accomplish in the new year, no holds barred. Our 6-year-old resolved to collect more candies, apparently feeling his candy consumption inadequate; and our 9-year-old is determined to never throw up in 2007.

After we set our goals together and separately, we had a rousing game of poker, ending with the children sending me to bed before midnight, with the revelation that the future has dawned with the new day – our children have joined us in this journey through time.

I have been waiting for this day to arrive.