歲暮 (Twilight of the Year)

Fiery celebrations

Lunar new year is fast approaching. On the streets in Flushing, crowds moved along the sidewalk like a swift-flowing river. They hustled in and out of shops, readying for the celebration. Decorations and signages, hung up high at the pop-up shops, shone brilliantly in red and gold. The scenery brought me straight back to over half a century ago.

In those days, New Year preparations were time consuming and labor intensive. To send away the old things and replace them with new items 除舊佈新, every household was busy cleaning—from top to bottom, every surface, every piece of furniture. Ingredients for New Year’s Eve dinner would require multiple trips to the market. Since most of the vendors at the market would not return until around Lantern Festival, it is necessary to stock up.[1]

Thousands of lucks

We would be home for winter break. Proudly, we helped with cleaning: starting with organizing our own books and toys. We would wax the floor by hand one little bit at a time. We polished the windows, sometimes, standing on a chair to reach the top corners. Mom always made sure that we had plenty fresh foods as well as items that would not get spoiled—sausages and dried goods. I would go shopping with her, helping her carrying things home. The market would be overly crowded with vendors and shoppers negotiating vigorously.

Gathering wealth and treasure

Weeks before New Year, the arcades on the main street near my house would become extended commercial spaces with overflowing seasonal merchandise on display.[2] Beautifully wrapped candies and pastries were piled high in front of the bakery; padded jackets 棉襖 in bright colors, more for children than for adults, hung outside of the clothing stores. Stationary shop had greeting cards, calendars, and red-envelopes of various designs and sizes. The signage shop was a sea of red and gold. They also carried candles, firecrackers and ceremonial supplies. The neighborhood calligrapher would be busy writing New Year couplets on red rice paper—mostly with traditional greetings but also taking special requests.[3]

For thirty odd years, I spent Spring Festival 春節 here. Occasionally, I got to celebrate it with my Asian friends. Last year, I flew home to be with my family. Things really changed. Handmade decorations and signages were hard to find. Plastic replaced paper. Eco-friendly firecrackers smelled and sounded different. Instead of visiting friends and relatives, city folks all left town for vacations. I wonder if the younger generations know that they really miss on something special.


[1]Lantern Festival is on the first full moon of the lunar year.

[2]Perhaps because of frequent rains and thunderstorms, street-facing commercial buildings in Taiwan have exterior pedestrian arcades. 三峽老街 (Sanxia Old Street)
Similar architectural styles can be found in many South Asian countries. Although publicly accessible, these arcades are considered private spaces.

[3]New Year couplets are the most commonly seen decoration. Pairs of celebratory verses, written on red rice paper, are posted on each side of front gates. Often a third horizontal scroll is placed above the gate. Hand-written scrolls have become rare in the recent years.
新春春聯 (New Year couplets): 歡歡喜喜過好年; 四季平安好富貴 (Happily celebrating a good year; peace and wealth throughout four seasons.)
手寫春聯 (Hand-written couplets): Short documentary on Taiwanese calligrapher Zhang Zhi Wei and his work. Starting when he was seventeen years old, he has been creating New Year couplets for twenty-two years. On average, he writes ten thousand scrolls every year.

Aduna (To gather)

In the months after my first trip to Illinois, everything had progressed, more or less, as planned. I passed the candidacy and had registered for classes in Perugia. I went to see Mr. Wustman again the week before flying out to Europe. This time, I brought some arias with me.

It was almost a decade before the birth of Google.  Yet, I did my homework on what and how to prepare for a lesson with Mr. Wustman.  Several people familiar with his work told me that he asked his students to use orchestra scores when studying operatic works.  I chose to play Mimì’s aria “Donde lieta” from the third act of La bohème: a beautiful slow piece with manageable orchestration—overall a safe choice.

Even in my undergraduate years, I was always curious about score reading.  As a piano student in graduate school, I did a little more work on the subject, playing string quartets.  I love doing it because it is a game of calculation: moving staff lines in my head to organize melodies and harmonies.  At the same time, I can hear the colors of various instruments coming through moment by moment.  With that said, it is not always possible to play everything with ten fingers on a piano keyboard.  So, the real challenge is to try to understand the composer’s intention and to make educated choices.  The other challenge is to play smoothly and musically while sorting out the information.

My playing must have been acceptable. . ..  Mr. Wustman didn’t stop me.  However, he almost jumped when we arrived at the phrase “se vuoi sebarla. . .,” where the orchestration built up and the range widened.  I followed the melodic doubling in the higher register and let go of the bass underneath the syllable “-bar.” He asked me what I just did.  I explained my choices.  He said, “One would never cut off the bass.” This advice has stayed with me all these years.  No matter how complicated the score is, I know where the foundation of the structure is.  The harmony and the sonority must all be built upon the bass.

At the end of the lesson, with a few minutes left, we discussed my next steps.  I expressed my desire to move to Illinois, since I could work on my dissertation wherever I chose. I talked about my trip to Italy in the following week.  I told him that I knew how important it would be for an accompanist to know Italian and how it would also benefit my research.  Mr. Wustman asked me a question that I wasn’t prepared to answer: “How are you going to study?” I knew that he wasn’t asking about which classes I would take.  So, I asked for explanation. 

He took me back to the piece that I just played.  In the verse “Le poche robe aduna che lasciai sparse” (Gather the few little things that I left spreading around), he asked me about the word “aduna.” I knew it meant “to gather.” His next question stunned me: “What does the word really mean?”

I never thought about how words came about.  Aduna was a combined word of “a” (to) and “una” (one).  So, it actually meant “to make one.”  The little one syllable word “a” works magic in Italian language.  The word “accompagnare” which has become my daily life means “to company”—to be friends with my fellow music maker.

I took Mr. Wustman’s advice and made my best effort to understand the words in any language and any materials that I had been studying.  It really made my world much richer and interesting.  I would never forget those first moments of our meetings.