I remember quite clearly now.
It was a winter with heavy snow,
like a quilt
covering the ground,
covering the roads,
covering the roofs,
covering the trees,
covering the cars,
covering the joyful kids who were making a snowman.
Everything was a giant sheep’s wool.
The snow shined in the quiet sky,
the sky looked brighter than usual.
I looked up,
and the green, red, yellow, purple, and blue circular fireworks
danced in the spacious sky.
I forgot to cover my ears,
so the smoke and earsplitting whistle and explosion sounds surrounded me,
blocked me,
and pressed this New Year feeling into my heart.
I rambled in my neighborhood,
red lanterns hanged at the roofs of houses;
red paper-cuts hanged on the windows;
white snowmen stood in the gardens.
Little sparkling red neon lights jumped
up and down in the snow
with the sounds and smoke of fireworks.
A few people walked apace on the road,
walked like something was chasing them.
Not only to escape from the cold,
but also to be with their families sooner.

I went back home in Changchun.
All lights turned on,
all my family members showed up.
The smell of dumplings ran into my face.
Everyone except for kids were busy
cooking for supper of Chinese New Year’s Eve.
Me and my cousins turned on the television,
to watch the Spring Festival Gala.
We played card games,
like King Games, Dutch Blitz and UNO,
had snowball fights,
set off some fireworks,
and had fun.

Everybody else made dumplings and other dishes,
like sweet and sour pork, fried prawns.
Mom and aunt put ten coins
into the dumplings,
In order to make everyone happy as well as
making the kids stay at the table and eat dumplings,
whoever gets the coins including our parents will be lucky for next year,
whoever gets the coins will get a hundred bucks from my grandparents as a gift.
We always cook ten dishes,
including fish, pork, beef, mutton and chicken,
including fried, boiling, grilling and sauteing,
as Chinese New Year’s Eve supper?
because in Chinese,
ten sounds like perfect.

Twelve o’clock in the midnight,
Mom called us because supper was ready.
We sat around at a round table full of dishes.
My grandpa raised his glass to propose a toast
for a blessed year for everyone.
We stood up.
Cheered.
The fireworks still boomed outside the windows.
I picked up a dumpling,
took a bite,
the juice along with the pork and green pepper fillings rushed into my mouth.
“I will never be weary of that taste,”
I whispered to myself.
Everyone was smiling.
A candy smell of harmony hanged in the air.

No one went to bed early that night,
we stayed up late until the sun of the next day rose.
Just a traditional but special way to welcome the new year.

Even two years have passed,
this part of the memory is still fresh,
like it just happened yesterday.
Every scene is boxed up in my head.
Every February, this piece of memory will be pulled out.
Every moment drift in front of my eyes.