Each Year Begins Twice

There are two New Years in my calendar.

The first arrives on January 1st. It’s efficient and decisive. A reset marked by lists, deadlines, and forward motion. It belongs to the American culture I grew up in.

The second comes later.

It follows a lunar calendar. It waits. It allows for revision. If the first New Year has already gone off course, the second offers another beginning.

I grew up between two cultures. Having two New Years has always felt both practical and symbolic.

In 2025, I returned to Vietnam for the first time since leaving as a child.

I arrived in Saigon as preparations for Tet were underway. Sidewalks filled with kumquat trees, their branches dense with fruit. Flower markets stretched for blocks — apricot blossoms still in bud, pots of chrysanthemums, gladiolas, and orchids stacked shoulder to shoulder. The scale was deliberately grand — nothing restrained, nothing minimal.

Tet reorganizes daily life. Homes are cleaned. Offerings are prepared. Flowers are placed carefully at entrances and near altars. Their purpose isn’t just decoration. They mark respect, continuity, and attention.

The celebration climaxed much as it does in the US, with extravagant fireworks at midnight. Crowds gathered along the Saigon River to watch the spectacle and count down to the new year. Slowly, they dispersed to continue the festivities elsewhere or return home to rest.

Vietnam didn’t feel like a return, nor like a discovery. It felt as familiar as the US. And so I celebrate two New Years.

The first shapes how I work and move through the world. It values momentum and outcome.

The second follows a different logic. It measures time in cycles. It prioritizes care over speed. It assumes adjustment is part of the process.

I don’t merge these calendars. I don’t choose between them.

One governs how I live.

The other reminds me where I come from.

Year of the Snake, Saigon 2025

Happy Lunar New Year from FleurEverMore!