Jennifer Wargo is the associate director of Asia Hub at Michigan State University, focusing on educational initiatives and partnership engagement in Asia. She started at MSU as the Outreach Coordinator for the Asian Studies Center in 2016 after eight years of teaching and school administration in China, South Korea and Michigan. Jennifer has her master's degree in education from the University of Toledo and her bachelor's degree in English and Chinese from the Ohio State University. She is a passionate educator, focuses on a student-centered approach for student success, and deeply believes in equitable partnerships for international engagement.
Living in East Asia as a foreigner always made me feel a bit lonely during the local holidays. Even so, I could tell there was something special about the Lunar New Year in China and Korea. Everything goes quiet and yet feels explosively powerful at the same time, like the sun rising on a snowy morning. There’s the promise of new life, there’s hope, and there’s a deep sense of joy. It felt similar to my memories of Christmas Eve in Michigan, except somehow warmer and more meaningful.
One new year in China in the early 2000s found me on a bus to a friend’s home. Their flat bustled with first cousins (she had no siblings like so many of her generation) and with the aroma of frying garlic, ginger and leeks. The whole family dove in to help wrap the dumplings, and everyone was laughing. The cousins went for a walk together, reminiscing – I tagged along. They played games with dad. We ate (and ate and ate!). Maybe it sounds too idealistic, but I loved the day’s authenticity.
On the bus ride home, I looked out over the empty streets of Tianjin. It looked like a war zone with all the yellow smoke from firecrackers meant to scare away anything evil from the new year. It sounded like one, too – pop! pop! pop! pop! – not far from the bus and also far away, the sounds lit up the night. They were everywhere.
The food, the hustle, the togetherness – and yet it wasn’t my holiday. I was an observer, thankful to be let in for a glimpse of that togetherness.
In 2021, on the brink of the year of the ox, Chinese New Year became meaningful to me in a way that it never was before. I sat alone in my house in Michigan with my children being cared for by extended family. There was no vibrancy or bustling kitchen that year. Far from the warmth of my new year memories in Tianjin, I spent my day battling the hospital to get scraps of information out of nurses caring for my husband’s recovery after open heart surgery.
It was the middle of the COVID pandemic, and I could only take the bits and pieces that they gave me, hoping that he was going to live, hoping that his pain would go away. On the eve of the Lunar New Year, a dear friend dropped off homemade Chinese food for me and stuffed red envelopes for my children.
That year, I may have eaten alone, but I ate homemade 素鸭 (vegetarian duck) and dumplings. The homemade dishes fed my soul and helped relieve my stress. The love in her cooking was palpable in every bite and redolent of the new year’s traditions and warmth.
I did not light fireworks that year, but more than ever before, I wished for the demons of the last year to be left behind. For my husband and our blended family, for our Spartans around the world, for those who lost so much because of COVID.
When my children returned home, I watched their joy at opening their first red envelopes. Soon after, the hospital lifted COVID restrictions, and I was able to visit my husband and hold his hand through a long and slow recovery. The simplicity of an act of love through food and tradition helped warm me on one of the darkest nights of my life.
While it may not be my holiday, one friend’s kindness brought me closer to the true meaning of the Lunar New Year, and for that I am forever grateful.
May the Year of the Horse bring energy and vitality, healing and prosperity to all! I hope that this year will be brighter, that there will be fewer demons, and that we will see a positive force of change. I feel the sun rising, and there is warmth in tomorrow's hope.
Thank you to Katharina Ehni who fed my soul that night!
