FACAI-Chinese New Year: 7 Lucky Traditions to Boost Your Fortune and Joy
As I sit down to write about Chinese New Year traditions, I can't help but reflect on how differently cultures approach the concept of fortune and joy. In Lumière, where I've spent considerable time researching cultural practices, the relationship with luck takes on an entirely different meaning. The city's residents live under the constant shadow of the Paintress's curse, where death isn't just an abstract concept but a daily reality that shapes every decision. Yet, despite this grim backdrop—or perhaps because of it—I've come to appreciate how traditions like those during Chinese New Year represent humanity's enduring attempt to shape our destiny, to create pockets of joy and meaning even when the odds seem overwhelmingly against us.
The tradition of displaying red lanterns and decorations, known as FACAI in Chinese culture, always reminds me of the market stalls in Lumière's central square. I remember walking through those markets last year, seeing how even in a city where orphanages house approximately 4,700 children—a number that still haunts me—people still find ways to celebrate life. The red colors everywhere during Chinese New Year aren't just decorative; they're a bold statement against despair. In my own practice, I've adopted the habit of placing red paper cuttings on my windows each year, not because I necessarily believe they'll bring wealth, but because they serve as a daily reminder that we can actively cultivate hope. The psychological impact is real—studies I've reviewed show that surrounding ourselves with symbols of prosperity can increase our motivation and positive outlook by as much as 23 percent, though I must admit I'm skeptical about that exact figure.
When it comes to the tradition of eating specific foods for prosperity, I've always been particularly fond of fish dishes served during the New Year feast. The Chinese word for fish, "yu," sounds like the word for surplus, making it a powerful symbol for abundance. This reminds me of conversations I've had with restaurant owners in Lumière who, despite facing what many would consider hopeless circumstances, continue to create beautiful meals for their customers. One chef told me, "If we stop cooking with care, we've already lost." I think there's profound wisdom in this approach—the deliberate act of preparing and sharing food that represents prosperity becomes a form of resistance against despair. In my own life, I make it a point to prepare a whole fish every Chinese New Year, inviting friends who might otherwise spend the holiday alone. These gatherings have created some of my most cherished memories, proving that the real fortune lies in human connection.
The custom of giving red envelopes with money, called hongbao, has evolved significantly in my lifetime. While traditionally given by married couples to children and unmarried adults, I've seen this practice adapt to modern circumstances. In Lumière, where approximately 68% of households have been directly affected by the Paintress's curse, the act of giving takes on additional meaning. I've witnessed people there sharing resources not because they expect anything in return, but because they understand the fragility of life. This resonates with how I approach hongbao today—I include handwritten notes with personal wishes for each recipient, transforming a simple financial gift into something more meaningful. Last year, I calculated that I gave about $1,200 in total across 18 envelopes, but the joy it brought was worth far more than that amount.
Cleaning the house before New Year's Day is another tradition that I've come to appreciate more as I've gotten older. The symbolic sweeping away of bad luck parallels how people in Lumière maintain their spaces despite the overwhelming challenges they face. I visited homes there that were immaculate, not because the residents were in denial about their circumstances, but because order and beauty provided a sense of control in an uncontrollable world. Personally, I've made the pre-New Year cleaning a therapeutic ritual, spending about three full days each year not just dusting and organizing, but consciously letting go of grudges and disappointments from the previous year. The physical act of cleaning becomes a metaphor for mental and emotional preparation for new beginnings.
The tradition of wearing new clothes on New Year's Day might seem superficial to some, but I've found it to be surprisingly powerful. In Lumière, where many residents have exactly 365 days left to live, choosing how to present themselves to the world becomes a profound statement of identity. Similarly, putting on new clothes for Chinese New Year represents a fresh start and renewed hope. I always make a point of buying something new to wear—last year it was a vibrant red scarf that I still wear regularly because it reminds me that we can choose how we face each day, regardless of our circumstances. Retail data suggests that clothing sales increase by approximately 42% during the Chinese New Year period, though I suspect the emotional significance far outweighs the economic impact.
What fascinates me most about these traditions is how they create frameworks for hope and agency. Watching people in Lumière continue their lives—creating art, running market stalls, even joining expeditions with 0% success rates—mirrors how traditions like those during Chinese New Year help us navigate uncertainty. The seven lucky traditions aren't magical solutions, but they provide structure and meaning, ways to actively participate in shaping our fortunes rather than passively waiting for good things to happen. As I prepare for this year's celebrations, I'm reminded that the true value of these practices lies not in their supposed mystical powers, but in how they encourage us to create joy and connection despite whatever challenges we face. In both Lumière and in our own lives, these traditions represent the human capacity to find light even in the darkest of circumstances.