COMMENTARY, Feb 1 — Strips of raw salmon. Julienned carrot and radish. Neon-hued "twigs” in artificial red and green. A towering mound of tiny crackers, like golden ingots. A crown of fresh cilantro leaves.

Then it’s time to open the lucky packets. First the red one; this has the aromatic five-spice powder. Then the green packet, with enough ground white pepper to liven things up. Finally a small bowl of sweet plum sauce – be careful to drizzle evenly, to cover everything – and now we’re ready.

For at least a couple of weeks now, and for a couple of weeks more, easily, this scene has been playing out across homes, restaurants and daichows across the country. The ingredients differ sometimes; the faces of expectant diners almost certainly so; the cheer and cacophony that accompanies the tossing near universal.

It’s loh sang time, again.

The chorus of auspicious sayings as each ingredient is added is part of the 'yee sang' tradition.

The chorus of auspicious sayings as each ingredient is added is part of the yee sang tradition. My nephew would holler "Huat ah!” to welcome good fortune (he’s Hokkien) and my sister would invariably slap his upper arm for hollering right into her ear.

By the time we are done tossing, half of the salad would be on the lazy Susan but that’s fine. It’s the intensity of the activity, the more raucous the better, that announces our intentions. We are a family and we are rejoicing that we get to gather again in one place, even if it’s increasingly rarer as everyone gets busier and busier.

But no one is too busy for this one meal, for this time of rest and recuperation and catching up with everyone. It’s about familial bonds, rather than achieving a tidy platter of yee sang when we are done.

The truth is, despite having had so many yee sang over the years, be it those featuring ikura (salmon roe) and crispy salmon skin (instead of slivers of the raw fish itself) to even making my own fruit-forward version, I’m not enamoured with this festive salad.

A whole steamed chicken, for a full life and a complete family reunion.

I don’t mind it but I’m not "crazy” about it. I don’t crave it.

But I do love the colour and crazy concoctions (every year, there’s bound to be new takes, as with mooncakes – though, as with mooncakes, the classics are the best, I feel), the sharing of auspicious sayings, and the companionship of the people I care about, to ring in a prosperous Lunar New Year.

That’s what yee sang really means to me. So, I guess, in the most important way, I do love yee sang after all.

And I see now I love and cherish everything about Chinese New Year: How we always have a whole steamed chicken, for a full life and a complete family reunion. Fresh fish, freshly steamed and gently moistened with superior soy sauce; it’s the one dish my father, my nephew and I always agree on.

Mandarin oranges ('kam' in Cantonese, which sounds like ‘gold’) and almond cookies.

A copious number of mandarin oranges (kam in Cantonese, which sounds like "gold") and creamy, crunchy almond cookies. Pineapple (or ong lai in Hokkien) tarts to welcome prosperity and good fortune in the new year. The sweetest new year.

These are the tropes and trappings of Chinese New Year, after all. (I meant to say "time trusted traditions”, I’m sure.) There is a reason for that, of course. They all mean something. Even the most cynical of us can’t deny that (and I fall neatly into that category even on my good days.)

They all mean something. Even the fireworks that keep me up past midnight, with one explosion after another, scaring off mythic village-destroying monsters and sweet slumber in equal measure.

Pineapple (or 'ong lai' in Hokkien) tarts to welcome prosperity and good fortune in the new year.

They all mean something. Even the rambunctious songs that used to irk me endlessly as a kid. Now every Chinese New Year playlist fills me with festive gaiety, reverberating with more mirth and meaning than those melancholic melodies or sombre silence that mark the rest of the calendar.

Everything — from the poon choy, brimful of luxurious delicacies, to the impressive stack of bakkwa that you can’t believe you’ve demolished in a single seating — screams CELEBRATION.

Which is as it should be. It’s cause enough to commemorate the passing of another year, the way our forebears have done for centuries before, but even more so now, having gone through two years of a pandemic.

It’s time to loh sang again! To ring in a new year, a fresh start. Opportunities abound. More chances to do good and be of service to others.To not only snack on folded triangles of kuih kapit but to remember their other moniker: "love letters” — which is what we all could do with more of. Our every positive and helpful action is a love letter to the world we live in, and what a beautiful world it is!

'Kuih kapit' are also known as ‘love letters’ – which reminds us what we all could do with more of.

How very blessed are we. Happy Year of the Water Tiger, everyone. May you be well and happy, safe and healthy always.

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