feature image photo by Stephanie Keith 100584 / Contributor via Getty Images
I didn’t grow up celebrating Lunar New Year in my home, but throughout my adulthood I’ve taken careful steps to learn how to appropriately celebrate the holiday as someone who is partially Chinese by a long lineage (it’s complicated, see my personal essay I Was Supposed To Be Good At Math). I can’t claim it as my own entirely, but I identify myself and my upbringing within its traditions.
As respectfully as possible, I want to say that any holiday based on the moon and storytelling is inherently gay. I know many queer white folks who colonize sacred Eastern rituals into a hippie-adjacent practice of their own, but I’m not talking about that. I’m simply stating in my unprofessional queer Asian opinion that in my heart of hearts I know there’s a queer ancestor above fully in charge of reading the moon, predicting fortunes, and spreading zodiac gossip. In fact, I have living relatives that already do this.
Lunar New Year is celebrated on the day of the second new moon after the winter solstice. Originally an agricultural tradition, Lunar New Year marks the coming of Spring, often celebrated by reuniting with family and friends, eating good food, wearing red, and doing things to invite good fortune. Like any major family-oriented holiday, this can be a very challenging time for queer folks. Conservative ideals are still grasped tightly in many communities, so some members of the LGBTQ community queer the holiday through a focus on chosen family. For example, in TIME, Miranda Jeyaretnam writes about a queer couple sending red money envelopes to their friends’ children, a tradition typically straight, married people do for their own children.
Each culture/country celebrates differently, but the origin of the celebration comes from scaring away the Monster Nian. A scary creature from the sea, it would come up to shore each year to hunt villagers. To scare the beast away, villagers set off firecrackers, hang red decorations for protection, and bribe it with money (the red money pockets elders give children). A tale of thrills and horror? Also gay.
The zodiac years are based on a tale about a race between animals called “The Great Race.” The Jade Emperor, a Chinese mythological god, had the animals race across a river. They finished in the order of the calendar we observe now: rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, goat, monkey, rooster, dog, and pig. In addition to zodiac animals, there are also five elements associated with each year: wood, fire, metal, earth, and water. Astrological-elemental personality forecasts? Also gay. This is the year of the wooden snake, so obviously there’s a lot to unpack there.
When I think “snake,” I think all the things associated with Taylor Swift’s Reputation era: backstabbing, cunning, viciousness, general edginess. Moving from a dragon to a snake, I was a bit worried about what this upcoming year would bring. However, in the context of the Chinese zodiac, it’s more hopeful and nuanced. The snake offers wisdom, mystery, strategy, and transformation. People born in the year of the snake give off the vibes of an Aquarius mixed with a Virgo: artsy, driven, passionate on the inside but calculated on the outside, seemingly confident and tasteful. Alternatively, they can be distant, detached, and selfish.
Your own Zodiac animal will determine how the year of the snake will look for you, but generally speaking this will be a year of shedding. Picture a snake shedding its dead skin. That. So maybe not the cutest, but still necessary and ultimately refreshing. It’s also a wood year, which brings characteristics of the active listening, loyal, contemplative/starving-artist archetype. My horoscope as a wooden pig isn’t looking particularly exciting, as it has told me to watch my health, my finances, and be patient in love, so instead, I asked myself what I’m getting out of this year’s theme.
Maybe this year we’re invited to think about what change is required for us to tap into our main character energy. This year is less about owning confidence until it feels real but, rather, using our intelligence to create smart goals and our charm to get ourselves to the finish line. Identify the area of life we want to change in, state the specific thing that needs changing, brainstorm solutions, and make an efficient plan.
The most fitting example from my own life is the wooden pig’s warning to manage physical and financial health. With both areas, I’d like to reach a point of stability. It’s hard to charm my way into abundant health and finance (if I could, I wouldn’t be in this predicament), so the year of the snake is challenging me to commit to a plan. I’m all for rapid change so, for me, shedding skin looks like staying put, feeling the discomfort of dry skin, continuing despite not knowing what I’ll look like at the end.
As a queer Asian person, the year of the snake really excites me. It makes me feel like I’m toggling between good and evil, change and stagnation. I’m equipped to charge into the year with the wisdom to know that nothing inherently always good nor inherently always bad. This Lunar New Year I can celebrate the stability I’ve found in my identities and relationships, and look forward to the stability I’ll cultivate in less abundant places.
Most importantly, harnessing the power of the snake just sounds so fucking badass.
