Everyone knows why everyone loves Chinese New Year. The little red packets, the gambling, the partying, the drinking, the food, the holiday and for the fact that you can finally be the total asshole that you are by indulging in batshit insane fashion sense, knowing that it’s the time of the year where no one gives a shit even if you walk on the streets dressed as The Flash because the fashion vigilantes will be too busy watching 2 grown-ups maneuver a (fabricated) lion’s head.

Yes, everyone loves Chinese New Year. But let me tell you what do I loathe about this festival.

The Weather

Chinese New Year is one of the most unique festivals ever, not only because it bears superstitions that are more retarded than an Anna Faris movie, but also because you do not actually need to remember nor know when the celebrations start, Mother Nature fucking does it for you. Like how snowing means Christmas is fast approaching in Western countries, you’ll know it’s time to pop the firecrackers when you start taking 6 showers within a day, your skin sticks like a band-aid and excessive perspiration ensures that your dong is well marinated.

Like this. But 100x less sexy.

This year, the temperature recorded at Ipoh (where I spent my CNY, sadly) was 34 degrees Celcius. Coupled with the unfortunate fact that there were no air-conditioners in my grandmother’s house, the sweltering heat made me want to flip the finger at Chinese fucking New Year and spend it in the car instead.

The Visiting

I am all for social conventions and I do believe that Chinese New Year is a good time to spend it with family, friends and loved ones. I said I’m all for social conventions, but it’s the social obligations that I have a problem with. Every year, I was made to believe that it’s a responsibility to pay every single relative in the family tree a visit. That is when awkward moments ensue. I have never understood the point in visiting people that you are not even close with. I mean, what is the fucking point? For 2 torturous hours, we pretend to be nice to each other, exchanging pleasantries and throwing well-wishes around and for the following 364 days, I wouldn’t even recognise (or give a shit) about the “uncle’s son’s cousin’s daughter’s mother’s grandaunt’s nephew” even if he appeared on the front-page of The Star for molesting an entire Lion Dance entourage. Which brings me to…

Lion Dances

With all due respect to Chinese beliefs, superstitions and urban legends, there is one question I had to ask regarding the whole Lion Dance establishment: what the fuck?

As far as I know, these anatomically-flawed creatures were made to ward off evils and all things horrible, so then again, what the fuck? Was the guy who contrived the entire image of the “lion” high on acid? Or were there no lions then? Or was the “lion” created just to show that the Chinese, like many other (shameful) instances, have our own version of Gremlins?

Right: A lion. Left: Still better than lion dance.

In all seriousness, these bastards have been creeping me out since I was a little kid. Not to mention the terrifyingly bland euphony played out by underage pre-teens that accompanies the whole circus while they rampage through the streets and malls, slowly but surely striking enough fear into kids (and some adults) to drive the country insane.

The Firecrackers

Let’s not kid ourselves, though firecrackers have long been banned in this country, every Chinese New Year the little bastards (and some adults) next door who think it’s cool to send their neighbors into shock and subsequent cardiac arrest will fire up those damn things until the wee hours in the morning.

Weapons of mass disruption.

They say firecrackers are used to fend off evil spirits, I say firecrackers are a sure-fire way for children to tell the world, “hey, I’m going to grow up to be a complete asshole.”

Back to Work

When your long holiday is over, all that is left to do is sit in the miserable, confined workspace in the office and bitch about how Chinese New Year makes you sick.