The Dragon Boat Festival

As the Dragon Boat Festival approaches, my heart fills with a mix of nostalgia and excitement, especially since I’m far from home in Nanchang. Though I can’t make zongzi with my family this year, the memory of past preparations still feels vivid. Every year, my grandmother would lay out bamboo leaves, sticky rice, and fillings like sweet red bean paste or savory pork. My siblings and I would crowd around the kitchen table, eager to learn how to wrap the triangular parcels. Grandma always laughed at our clumsy attempts, gently correcting our grips on the leaves and the way we tied the strings. “Not too tight, or the rice won’t cook right,” she’d say, her hands moving swiftly as she created perfect zongzi. Those moments around the table weren’t just about making food—they were about sharing stories, laughing loudly, and feeling the warmth of family connection.

This year, while I miss that tradition, I’ll create new memories with friends in Nanchang. We plan to visit the city’s ancient streets, where vendors sell fragrant mugwort leaves and colorful sachets to ward off bad luck. Walking along the Gan River, we might watch the dragon boat rehearsals, the rhythmic drumbeats echoing through the air. Though we won’t make zongzi together, we’ll order some from a local shop, maybe trying unique Jiangxi-style fillings like chestnut and salted egg. Sharing these treats while chatting about our hometown traditions will feel like a small but meaningful way to bridge the distance from our families.

The Dragon Boat Festival isn’t just a holiday—it’s a thread connecting generations to the story of Qu Yuan, the loyal poet who threw himself into the river. His sacrifice for integrity has become a symbol of patriotism and moral courage in Chinese culture. Every time I eat zongzi or watch the dragon boat races, I’m reminded of the importance of standing by one’s principles, a lesson that spans centuries. The festival also ties me to my heritage through its rituals: the scent of mugwort hanging on doors, the vibrant zongzi wrappers, and the communal joy of coming together. These traditions aren’t just customs; they’re a living part of who I am, even when I’m far from home.

In Nanchang, exploring the city’s cultural sites with friends will be a new kind of celebration. We might visit the Tengwang Pavilion, a historic landmark where ancient poets once wrote verses, imagining how they might have marked the festival long ago. Though this year’s Dragon Boat Festival is different, it’s a chance to create the own blend of old and new traditions—honoring the past while making space for new memories in this vibrant city. As I hold onto the stories of Grandma’s zongzi and Qu Yuan’s legacy, I know that wherever I am, the spirit of the festival—the importance of community, memory, and standing firm in one’s beliefs—will always stay with me.