I am a nervous wreck, I think to myself, staring at the mirror. Today, he is picking me up ahead of the holidays to go and experience an authentic Taiwanese celebration of the Lunar New Year in his hometown, a few hours away from the place where I live.
“That means he’s serious about you, he really wants you to meet his family,” my friend said when I shared with her my plans for what is considered the biggest and most important season in all of Taiwan. I couldn’t help but get excited by the idea of it, and the recent mood of my surroundings have certainly added up to that anticipation.
Spring is already in the air here in the Eastern countryside of Taiwan, and the official holidays haven’t even started yet. What is usually a quiet, laid-back setting has suddenly turned into a hodgepodge of lively activities. Prosperity music is blasting everywhere. Strangers are handing out bills in red envelopes (otherwise known as 红包 or hóngbāo). University students are taking a break from their routine and packing their bags to go back home if only for a little period. The downtown is filled to the brim with bright red lanterns. Malls are hosting massive sale events. Restaurants are packed with long queues of people hoping to get a festive meal to celebrate with loved ones they haven’t seen in over a year. Even the piercing cold air is suddenly pleasant.
Everyone seems to be up on their feet, doing something worthwhile during this time of the year. And when you’re a foreigner who is away from home, loved ones, and every single comfort you’ve had for most of your life, this season can also prove to be the loneliest.
But this time, it’s different. This time, I have him.
I am halfway through packing his favorite spicy adobo I prepared to give to his family, when I receive a message from him, saying that he’s already waiting downstairs.
He’s surprisingly early, I think to myself. I quickly finish everything to go and meet him. He greets me with the biggest smile. “Happy New Year,” he says, in his adorable Taiwanese accent.
We load up my stuff in his car and we’re off. “Oh, I need to buy some cleaning supplies,” he suddenly blurts.
“What? Cleaning supplies? What for? Aren’t we going to attend a party and celebrate?” I ask, jokingly.
He explains to me that it’s Taiwanese tradition to do a spring-cleaning blitz at home during this time of the year. It is believed that by doing so, families can get rid of any bad luck that can be looming in their way. They also need to get rid of old and unused items to make room for more good luck to come into the household.
“We need to do it today, before the Lunar New Year holiday officially begins tomorrow,” he adds, saying that it’s already considered bad luck if one does the spring cleaning during the actual holidays because it could mean sweeping away the good luck that has already arrived.
Settling everything he needs for the annual spring cleaning, we head to our destination. When we arrive at his impressively massive childhood house, his older sister is waiting by the door to say hi. “Oh, you’re the Filipino girl, right?” She asks me, and I am taken aback. What does that even mean, I think to myself.
She guides us to their back porch where many elderlies are gathering around, having their afternoon tea and mooncakes.
They’re all smiles and friendly seeing the two of us arrive, but I already feel left out for some reason.
His mom comes up to us, and I hand her the nicely packed spicy adobo I brought. In return, she gives me a smile I can’t quite decipher. His mom is not capable of speaking English, so as much as I want to get to know her better, we aren’t able to talk beyond the basic mandarin I’m capable of doing.
A few minutes later, I see him talking with his mom, their conversation seemingly serious. I can’t shake off the feeling that something isn’t right.
The rest of the day comes by in a blur, and we’re suddenly in his room, doing a last-minute spring cleaning. He shows me a glimpse of his memories growing up. A traditional Taiwanese boy who grew up in a well-off family with a stable farming business, he says he spent most of his years just studying and living up to the strict expectations of his parents.
More than 10 years later, his parents still have the same level of expectations from him. “You look like you come straight out of a typical Asian drama,” I joke. He just remains silent, distancing himself by making the final touches of cleaning his room.
After dinner, we head back home. He is unsettlingly quiet the entire night.
When we arrive back outside my apartment, he turns to me. I already have a gut feeling of what’s going to happen next, and it’s making my heart ache more than I’d like to admit.
“I really like you,” he says. “But I still need a Taiwanese girl to be serious with. Someone who can understand our culture better and who can help take over the business someday.”
“I didn’t want to hold you down with such pressure because I know you still have big dreams you want to fulfill,” he adds.
“Why did you bring me to your hometown, then?”
“Because I really like you. I was hoping they’d give it a chance. But I realized we’re both really from two different worlds.”
I almost feel like slapping him.
“So, is this goodbye?” I finally ask, my voice cracking.
“I’m sorry.” he says.
I get off his car, close the door, attempting my best not to look back.
So, this is it. A spring cleaning, a clean slate. 新年快乐 (Xīn nián kuài lè) to the both of us, I guess.
Image credits: Jeahan Virda De Barras