A Kiss Across Cultures
My baby is sandwiched between her grandpas: a Brooklyn-born Jew and a Vietnamese immigrant, each planting an exuberant kiss on her chubby cheeks. “What should I say for Jewish New Year?” my father asked shortly after I married. I was impressed he knew that there was one. We practiced “L’Shana tova.” When Lunar New Year arrived, my father-in-law called with a similar question. We practiced “Chuc mung nam moi.” Over the years, they exchanged loudly articulated, slightly unintelligible, but always well-intended greetings. As my baby and her younger siblings grew, so did the grandpas’ affection for their shared family. — Oanh Ngo Usadi
I Manifested My Hadass
I manifested my partner, listing what I really wanted: a masculine lesbian into musicals. Her profile read, “Listening to ‘Yentl.’” Unaware that first contact should be brief, I wrote immediately and effusively, even referencing the film’s song “Papa, Can You Hear Me?” I asked her out — to a gay bar’s show-tune singalong. I held my breath. People have always said I’m too much. Not Kris. She wrote back, “Love your exuberance.” Later she would say: “Never too much. Never enough.” We dressed as the characters Yentl and Hadass for Halloween. No one got it. But we knew. We knew. — Bree Coven
Life Begins Anew
We knew each other casually through our social groups. We had both lost our spouses the previous year, so when we ran into each other at a celebration of life for a mutual friend, we spent a lot of time catching up. All of a sudden, he said, “Kiss me.” I replied, “In front of all these people?” To which he responded, “I’d be honored.” We did — and haven’t stopped. Yesterday, Feb. 17, was the first anniversary of new love, new life. — Greta Alexander
Fluttering Gilded Paper
The Chinese believe that you can send money to the dead by burning joss paper. So, having returned to my father’s rural hometown in Shandong for the Lunar New Year, I ended up scattering thin, gilded paper in front of my grandfather’s tombstone. Before long, flakes of ash stippled the grave like dandruff. I know we can’t bring our money into the underworld, and I don’t think burning it helps. But on that bitterly cold day, I still found myself frantically fanning the flames — trying to keep the embers alive, trying to feel the warmth a little longer. — Raphael Niu
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