While the world agonised over the political correctness of Band Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” I had a far smaller, if also urgent, dilemma: how to “correctly” celebrate Lunar New Year so my mixed-raced daughters know what it is.
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When we lived in Singapore, my husband made sure they knew their English heritage. Now that we live in England, it’s my job to keep their Singaporean identity alive. And celebrating Lunar New Year in a tiny Devon village is hard work. My husband may not agree with how Christmas is celebrated in Singapore but at least it’s a public holiday.
Where we are, it’s school, business, indeed, life as usual. In the midst of the pandemic lockdown, in the bitterly cold winter, I wondered darkly: does anyone here know it’s Lunar New Year?
The problem with being the sole source of Singaporean Chinese culture for my children is I’m neither very traditional nor do I agree with everything in my culture. My attempts at teaching them Mandarin and Teochew have failed spectacularly, and I’m not interested in passing on the conservative Chinese values I was raised with; I don’t want absolute obedience, my children’s sexual proclivities, whatever they turn out to be, are none of my business, and I want them to find their place in the world, not be put in their place by outdated ideas about daughters, wives or mothers. The only area I feel I could transmit culture in is food.
So, Lunar New Year means bak kwa (a juicy jerky), pineapple tarts (in the style of Singapore bakery Bengawan Solo), kueh bangkit (coconut cookies) and curry leaf salted egg yolk biscuits – the last not terribly traditional but I like them and, importantly, it’s among the few festive foods I can make. Because if I didn’t make it, there would be no festive food. (If we lived in London, with their festive pop-ups, things would be easier.)
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My first attempt at grilling bak kwa was an absolute disaster. My girls hated it; I was devastated. Then my sister took pity and sent us some from Singapore’s Bee Cheng Hiang. The girls decided it was the world’s best thing. In desperation, I once emailed Bee Cheng Hiang begging it to deliver to Britain; I received a nice but firm no.