I haven’t really updated here in a while, and sometimes, I’m not too sure what this blog is for. Often, I second guess myself–why, of all things, should I have a blog? So many people who are writers have taken to blogging, and they all do a better job of publicity than I do–they are much louder with their tweets, they broadcast that they are worldbuilding, or that their word count has reached an all-time high. I, on the other hand, don’t see the need to add on to this, but sometimes, I also wonder if anyone is still reading, if anyone is interested in what I really have to say.
So, on to today’s topic–reunion dinners. In the past few years, I have skipped out on them simply because I see no point in facing a family that has done their very best to isolate me. I hate the unnecessary pomp that comes with it. I always end up having to wear something nice, and my aunt always books a table at a fancy restaurant, guilt-tripping us to eat the abalone–“Do you know how much this costs?” while my sister and I stared at her, baffled.
But we didn’t ask for abalone, nor that gooey sauce that comes with it. Why are we being vilified?
No matter.
Before the virus, I’d started a new year tradition of being overseas during Chinese New Year–in 2020, I’d gallivanted off to The Philippines and enjoyed the sun, sand, and surf, only to return and realise that the virus had ravaged the world and that we could not travel until now. And even then, there are so many rules and regulations with the VTLs that I cannot keep up, so I’ve postponed my adventures.
But this is not about travel. This is about reunion dinners.
I’ve been to other people’s reunion dinners, for they have so kindly invited me to join their families. It is something rather intimate, to meet your friend’s extended family, but well, I went. Their reunion dinners are unpretentious, done in slippers and shorts in an old flat while talking about whatever it is that matters the most to them, and of course it hit me that mine were so joyless and performative.
Another one I went to was filled with home-cooked food and a liberal use of oyster sauce–thanks Aunty M for feeding me–and then it was a quiet night of gaming with my then best friend.
So you see, reunion dinners can be low-key, quiet, and happy. There is no need for an expensive table at a pretentious restaurant that I wouldn’t normally eat at, although I miss dressing up. (But I have done plenty of dressing up, though that is for another post.)
But this year, a reunion dinner will be at my sister’s, with all our furry cats. We’ll be eating the prosperity burger and playing the games we love. I think that that is better than eating at some fancy restaurant and feeling unhappy while facing your relatives.