Chinese New Year in my memory

 As I grow older, some childhood memories gradually fade, but the scenes of Chinese New Year remain vivid in my mind, unforgettable.

Back then, my family lived in a secluded valley at the foot of Riyue Mountain. Due to poverty, we ate only locally produced barley flour year-round. My mother, with her superb culinary skills, made incredibly delicious barley flour oil-fried buns. These buns, made with fragrant beans and barley oil, were perfectly shaped and nourished me and the people of that area. Every year in the twelfth lunar month, we eagerly awaited the 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month. On this day, farmers had a custom of offering sacrifices to the Kitchen God. On that day, we could change our long-standing eating habits, longing for those fifteen small stove cakes.

In those days, resources were scarce, and food was in short supply. Even the barley flour oil-fried buns were barely enough to feed the family; there was no surplus grain. Every year during the off-season, my father and his friends would exchange two bags of wheat from the wheat-producing areas of Huangzhong for two or three extra weights. They would grind it into flour, which, though a little whiter than barley flour, was something I dreamed of as a child

. After the Kitchen God Festival ceremony, my father would distribute "stove cakes," which I always ate sparingly; two small cakes were enough for two days' worth of food. From that day on, the farmers, who had worked hard all year, beamed with joy. They greeted each other warmly, wishing each other a Happy New Year, forgetting the grudges and hardships of the past year.

Writing Spring Festival couplets, making fried dough sticks, cleaning—the children gathered in a circle, some playing shuttlecock, some playing beanbag toss, some playing "Grandma Leading the Sheep," while the boys played rolling hoops and tossing towels—a lively scene indeed. The village's main square became a children's paradise. Adults bustled about, some carrying freshly written couplets, the faint scent of ink wafting from afar; others carrying large aluminum pots of freshly fried dough twists and pancakes, their oily aroma still lingering, refreshing and invigorating. Still others swept the alleyways, transforming the once filthy lanes into pristine spaces. Without running water, they opened a small hole in the frozen river to fetch water and sprinkle it down the alleyways—a scene of bustling activity that was both exciting and memorable. But

the most joyful part wasn't just these sights, but the joy of wearing new clothes, setting off firecrackers, and receiving red envelopes from elders. Each small square of red paper, though carefully wrapped, contained a few coins—some a dime, some fifty cents. Though the amount was small, the heart was filled with immense happiness, for red symbolized vitality, joy, and good fortune.

This unique image of the festive spirit has vanished without a trace in today's reality. Year after year, with New Year's greetings, people have forgotten which door faces which way, and the sincerity and intimacy of the past have faded. A mobile phone has replaced the enthusiasm of yesteryear; playing games, using short videos, showing off gold, meals, and beautiful legs have become the modern trend. Only now do I understand why some say childhood is priceless!

As time passes, childhood will slowly drift away from me. When you want to have it again, it's already gone; nothing can bring back time!

How I wish I could go back to the past, back to that carefree childhood!