The hot, chewy smell of tteokguk and gurgling pots beckon [1] me. From my bed drenched in the dark and delirium, I know my mother’s hands are honoring Seol (the Korean New Year) in the kitchen. In fact, her morning usually starts when many others have lunch, so waking up to witness her making tteokguk, and its warmth roaring against the crisp air at dawn, is a rarity that brightens my pale heart.
The Seol holiday, or Seollal, has been observed by people on the Korean peninsula with pride and humility for millennia– there are records of it dating back to 488 BC during the Silla dynasty. This is New Year’s Day on the Korean calendar, which originates from the Chinese lunisolar calendar. The Korean and Chinese calendars mark the beginning of each month when the Moon and the sun are aligned in one line; however, these alignments are observed at different times depending on the geographic location of the observation point, and the Korean calendar is adjusted to the peninsula’s location at 135 meridian degrees east of Greenwich. As a result, Lunar New Year’s Day in Korea and China occasionally differ. This distinction is quite significant for many Koreans who find their roots in Korea’s independent history against China’s and Japan’s past. The people access their ancestry through Seollal and its customs such as tteokguk and sebae– some may say this is an act of search, an act of reassurance.
The truth is, however, traditions around Seollal are shifting. In the past, family members and relatives would get together to commemorate their common ancestors through a ritual. And since half of the South Korean population lives in the capital city, an annual exodus [2] from Seoul to rural parts of the country would happen around the Seol holiday season. But a new trend has emerged: according to Korea’s Ministry of Justice, overseas travel during the Seol holidays increased threefold from 88,929 in 2013 to 240,299 in 2019; more and more people are choosing Vietnam over their hometown as their holiday destination.
Our family doesn’t participate in Seollal ancestral rites, nor do we make it an obligation to visit my grandparents. But the spirit of Seol is in our hearts. My mother takes joy in giving meaning to little remnants of our Lunar New Year tradition, including good food and exchanging words of wisdom. For me, the sumptuous, viscous [3] smell of tteokguk in the air is enough to remind me of where I’m from and whose tradition I’m honoring. I think of this sentiment as a gift from my ancestors to me.