Page 62 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

Didn’t you say that?

That only applies to MY answer.

Wait let me guess. Angelina Jolie?

You seem like the type that would go for Jolie.

Wrong.

J-Lo? Jen Aniston?

Sandra Bullock! Cameron Diaz?

Nope.

okay, now I REALLY HAVE TO KNOW!!

Why are we still talking about this?

Because u said you’d tell me if I told u mine!

I’m going to sleep now

Your messages will remain unread and unanswered.

No! You’re not playing fair

Don’t make me come and kick down your door.

You’ve got 2 mins!

Alec I’m warning u!!

The two blue check marks appeared, but there was a long silence until, finally, his reply popped on my screen.

And nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.

You.

My childhood crush was you.

CHAPTER 17Bubble Tea Makes Everything Better

If birthdays were deemed an unworthy celebration in my family, Lunar New Years were the complete opposite. Traditionally, it was the perfect time to catch up with relatives, to eat an obscene amount of food, and for kids to collect piles of angpaos. Everyone would be encouraged to wear new clothes, preferably in red, famously believed to scare away bad spirits and represent success and good fortune. It was one of my favorite celebrations of the year, because I got to see out-of-town or overseas cousins that I wouldn’t normally see otherwise.

When my Engkong and Emak were still alive, and whenever they came for a visit to the States, they used to tell me stories about how their families couldn’t celebrate their heritage back home in Jakarta. The early Indonesian government had prohibited their citizens of Chinese descent from observing traditional Chinese customs and strongly encouraged them to shed much of their Chinese identity. As a result, people like my parents and Alec’s mother had grown up with Indonesian as their mother tongue and had adopted Indonesian-sounding names. My father’s surname,originally Pang in Cantonese, was altered to the more acceptable Pangestu. The owner of Java Spice, Mr. Tanujaya, would formerly be a Tan. Kim’s family name, Halim, would be an Indonesianized version of Lim.

But even though the discriminatory laws had been revoked after Indonesia’s fourth president, my grandparents said it was still felt in many areas, causing many Chinese Indonesians to flee overseas. For some people, the minute they settled in a new country, they reverted to their Chinese surnames and began to observe the traditional customs again, keen to rediscover their ethnic traditions. Like my parents. Not only that, but all our celebrations were also tinged with touches of Indonesia, so to me, Lunar New Year represented a delightful fusion of the two cultures that were the essence of my family.

And, of course, my parents, being my parents, had taken it a step further: using the occasion as the perfect time for them to network and show off.

Every year, without fail, they would invite their wealthy friends and business partners over. The preparation for the day would take at least a week, with my mother meticulously planning and executing everything with military precision. She’d have long, strategically planned lists of gifts and hampers to be sent to said friends and business partners. Our house would be cleaned from top to bottom; every corner wiped and dusted, every nook and cranny swept and scrubbed, any unnecessary clutter ruthlessly discarded. Eric and I had had to show her that our rooms were spotless, and it had probably been one of the more stressful times of my life, waiting for her to finish her thorough inspection.

Then there was the food. She always made sure we served an elaborate, lavish banquet that could put even the poshest Michelin star restaurant to shame. Eight different whole fish dishes; platters of oysters, crabs, and lobsters; gourmet spring rolls; all kinds of noodles and dumplings; egg tarts and sesame balls; andplates of yee sang—the good luck salad. We’d also have some Indonesian-style desserts: kue keranjang, lapis legit, and bakpia, along with piles of oranges, pears, longans, and lychees. Everything was supposed to represent wealth and prosperity, but more importantly, it was designed to impress their important guests.

Once everyone was fed, it was time to trot out the lion dance troupe. I didn’t know how our neighbors tolerated the noise, year after year. Because for the next twenty minutes, the house would be filled with loud, thunderous beats of drums, cymbals, and erupting firecrackers.

It was basically similar to our annual New Year’s Eve bash, only on steroids.

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