Department Spotlight

Erik Lystad is a senior chemistry major from Whitworth University in Spokane, Washington, who studied at the Chinese University of Hong Kong for one academic year. He plans on continuing his studies in medicine and community health in a Chinese medical school, with the intent of partnering with the Chinese government in development work in northwest China's Qinghai Province.

Lessons of the New Year
By Erik Lystad

Scurrying along the silted road, watching our breath slowly disappear into the icy darkness, we began to prepare ourselves for the sights and sounds to come. The thick armament of my winter dress could barely keep out the cold. Soon it began, starting with a few small voices rocketing up to the sky, and ending with a loud triumphant shout, as fiery explosions pounded against the stars. My friend and I stood there, welcoming the New Year's sky with those ancient lyrics: Xin Nian Kuai Le (Happy New Year).

My faithful Chinese buddy of just three months had invited me to his house for Chinese New Year, and I knew it would be an adventure worth re-telling. It would be a chance to look through the ephemeral portal of the Chinese culture and see the awakened Dragon, dancing as it had since the feet of Huang Di grazed his throne. For during the Chun Jie season, the Chinese people set aside their sorrows and frustrations to make way for joy and celebration.

Before I embarked on the nonstop train to Beijing, my time at the Chinese University of Hong Kong had been one of simple pleasures. I say simple, for not once had I joined my fellow exchangers on their adventures in Thailand and Malaysia. Instead, I enjoyed the agreeable cafeteria food, which consisted of rice and tofu (rice with fish head on a good days), trusting that other travel opportunities would present themselves.

I had come to Hong Kong with the intent of learning about the intricacies of the Chinese culture and language, but in many ways, the city seemed more Western than "Chinese." I could learn about Hong Kong pop music (I do love a good song by the pop-group Twins), gaze at the hundreds of Rolls Royces at Hong Kong Island and even mingle with the thousands of merchants from India and Middle East. But "genuine" Chinese culture I could not find...

Then came along Yang Zhao, my future tour guide of north China. As things would have it, he lived directly across from me in room 227 of Hang Seng Hall, United College. I still remember one of the first midnight conversations we had, about the importance of dragons in Chinese literature. Our friendship grew, and he taught me about the "most cultured poetry of the world," as he put it, even sharing with me the gentle poetry of that infamous leader, Mao Tse Dong. But our friendship went beyond "you teach me and I will teach you" -- he became like a brother to me.

After spending 16 of the 21 hours on a Kowloon-Beijing train, trying to decipher the formidable Beijing accent, I stepped into the Beijing-freezer. Acclimated to the pleasant temperatures of the Hong Kong islands, I felt like my body had lost all ability to respond to neurological impulses. Even my tongue was unable to put together intelligible English phrases, let alone Chinese ones.

Soon Yang Zhao and I arrived at the "small-sized" city of Baoding, 150 kilometers southwest of Beijing, which was a mega-city compared to the "large" cities of my U.S. home state, Washington.

My first lesson of Chinese New Year: family is integral. First we visited Yang Zhao's grandparents on his father's side. His elderly war-veteran grandfather, called Ye-ye had never before spoken with a foreigner. There were uncles, aunts, cousins, cousins of cousins, aunts of aunts and friends of the aunts who knew the grandpa when he was younger. Each person had a certain Chinese title. English is a relatively casual language, and these names were a mountain too big for me to climb, though even my friend admitted he had trouble keeping them all straight.

The kitchen contained a simple wok, cooking oil, some spices and vegetables. But the treasures that came out of that room were too much for me to handle! Thus, I learned my second lesson--where two or more Chinese are, food will follow in abundance. I could easily pick out the jaozi (boiled dumpling) that I attempted to make, since all the stomach contents came out in the cooking process. But fortunately, Ye-ye held a special affection for me, and he ate the breading in spite of its mangled appearance.

The eating continued on through the days. We went on to visit Yang Zhao's other set of grandparents, and the food rituals continued, as well as that ancient gambling board game called ma-jiang. But in the midst of all this food and celebration, the heart of the week had yet to emerge.

Though America likes to boast about its scientifically and technologically advanced firework displays, the demonstration of human spirit in Chinese fireworks, bian-pao, was unmatched. Behind every strike of the match, there was a story of the previous year's long hours of work and financial burdens. All this, concentrated into a loud roar of the bian-pao, and the year's frustrations were released.

In fact, the existence of the Chinese New Year is quite directly related to these fireworks. According to legend (which is as sure as stone in China, or so they say), there was a time when a scary monster called the nian would come out and molest the villagers. Its annual visit resulted in the use of loud explosives to pacify the nian until the following year. As it so happened, the nian was so punctual that the Chinese began the new year after its annual arrival. Thus, the Chinese refer to one year as one nian.

And how true it came this year--right on time. The clock struck 12 a.m., and the weapons against the nian were unveiled. For hours, the night sky was alive with dazzling colors of synchronized butterflies and dragons. All of the stores were closed during the Chun Jie, and even the students were allowed to stop their furious studies for one week. No one slept until the last nian was scared away (nor could they sleep if they wanted to).

Eventually, the New Year celebration turned into yesterday's memory, and the families resumed their lives of work and study. I wished Ye-ye good health and happiness in the northern Chinese fashion--two hands clasped together and a hearty voicing of "Shenti Jian Kang." I couldn't say that I was going to miss the icy cold wind of the Beijing nights when I stepped onto the train, but I had learned that the northern people could easily warm even the coldest traveler with their hospitality.

Reflecting on my own life, I wondered if I had ever experienced this sort of gathering. I cannot recall a time when family came so close together, and the problems of the past year could be put aside to make room for love and appreciation of one other. To have a week of life together, enjoying every moment ... and topped off with fireworks!

I don't know about the food (my family might not be able to hold chopsticks), or even the fireworks (I think they are illegal in Seattle), but I will be sure to enjoy my family all the more, wherever I am in this world.

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