As the end of the semester approaches, a line of celebrations packed month after month awaits. Like an ecological succession, the grisly decorations and expressive pumpkins are replaced by paper turkey cutouts plastered over storefronts, then trees and railings entwined with bright lights that compensate for the short daytime. We don’t normally question why we do these things; most people see them as an excuse to eat good food in good company. I think the same.
One of my favorite food-ladden celebrations is Chuseok, the Korean harvest moon festival that is observed on the day of the harvest moon, which is the full moon that occurs closest to the beginning of the fall season. As its other name, "Korean Thanksgiving," suggests, it is a time to visit family and friends, as well as a time to make and eat too much food.
I especially like this time of the year due to my many childhood memories of shaping songpyeon (a particular type of rice cake eaten during Chuseok). As a child, I was not allowed to pour the boiling water onto the white rice flour or knead the clumps of flour into a smooth dough ball, but I loved to test my technical skills and creativity as I molded each individual rice cake. I could go the standard route, digging my thumb into a ball of dough as I rotated it, gently filling the cavity with a sweet sesame seed filling, rolling it back into a ball, and then using my first three fingers to press it into a bird-like shape. Or I could mischievously sculpt animals while omitting the crucial filling, leaving the consumer with a mouthful of plain rice cake.
At the height of my homesickness in freshman year, I decided to make songpyeon to remind myself of my connection to my family and culture. Asking someone with a car if they could obtain the special short-grain rice flour for the rice cakes and borrowing my roommate’s steaming basket, I intended to do the full process all by myself. In exchange for sleep I gained self-satisfaction, the right to call myself self-sufficient, and 2 gallon-sized zipper bags’ worth of rice cakes to keep in the freezer as emergency meals.
However, this year’s Chuseok (which fell on October 1st) almost slipped by as a normal Thursday. After feeling especially disheartened that nothing special happened on this day, I realized that celebrations not only uplift our moods but also give us a chance to emotionally connect with others. In previous years, I would have been motivated to make large batches of songpyeon for friends, as well as having invited people to cook with me.
Families also purposely make excess food for Chuseok to lighten the burden of cooking for the elderly, alone, or sick, along with the usual food gifts intended to maintain goodwill. I remember the pile of food on the kitchen table meant for my grandmother that was dropped off by different people, as well as accompanying my father on visits to elderly church members, leaving containers of savory pancakes, sweet potatoes, and songpyeon. Chuseok is not solely meant to induce food comas but to reaffirm a shared identity and foster a sense of community.
Despite being unable to enjoy the holidays physically together this year, we can still spread positivity and celebrate our connections. We do not have to be discouraged by toned-down festivities. It is not the bustling of people going in and out of our doors or the decorations on our walls that make these celebrations important. Sending a sincere text, setting aside time for a video chat, or dropping off food are all things we can do during the holidays to express our concern for others, which is what we may need now more so than ever before.
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of Andrews University. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, Andrews University or the Seventh-day Adventist church.