Nostalgia

I just spent $300 on mooncakes. AMA.

I don’t know why I do this every year. I always question myself before leaving. Why not just order online? Maybe I can just buy something from the mooncake fair… But go, I must. I feel so compelled, it’s like a pilgrimage, a religious experience. And when I get there, I rediscover why I do this.

Every. Single. Time.

Walking through the familiar streets in Chinatown.
Having lunch at the maze-like hawker centre, seeing old masters spin up a coffee, knead dough for a honeyed snack, or whip up a popiah roll
Seeing how the old stores I visit on this annual pilgrimage are still there. Or no longer. Heart swells and hearts breaks all within a turn of the corner.

Finally, with my prized possessions of these mooncakes, I head home, like gold in hand. I share them proudly with my family, and we discuss the merits of the pastries while munching them with tea.

All these… It feels so grounding, to reconnect to my heritage. I feel firmer in my steps, more connected to the stream of customs and culture from which I was born. Connected to my roots, my ancestors. I feel rooted and strong, like an old oak able to withstand strong winds of whatever the world throws at you, than a flimsy shrub thrashing about at the slightest upset.

I can write all day describing it, but it’s hard to nail down in words why I do this every year.

But it sure feels good and right.