A Lunar New Year gathering under the moon in celebration and reflection

On the last Saturday of January, during a cold and cloudy day a week into Lunar New Year, we went to the moon.

How did we get there?

We walked, of course.

There were three dozen or so of us – all somehow connected to East and Southeast Asian heritage. We all gathered to see the Musem of the Moon at the Old Royal Navy College in Greenwich, London.

There the moon hovered above us, posed for us as we eagerly took photos – individually and in groups – and maybe even listened to our quiet but excited conversations to one another.

It was my second time joining a kindredpacket walk – the first being the exhilarating and relaxing Box Hill hike in September. And there’s a reason I came back.

A few things happen on these walks, and a lot more I’m sure I’m not aware of from my lone perspective of it. But let me tell you what I know: 

●      You meet kindred spirits.

●      You join conversations, or conversations come to you – possibly in various languages.

●      You connect – with people, the day, and the world around you, or all of the above.

●      You tell everyone about your favourite snack, or, if you’re lucky, munch on that snack throughout the walk.

●      There’s a possibility you come away feeling just that bit lighter.

For this Lunar New Year edition of the walk, the plan was to spend some time at the Museum of the Moon then get our free (!!!) milktea at Gong Cha and, finally, walk around the park.

It can be hard to capture in words the day we had. Here’s my attempt to do that.

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The Museum of the Moon is a large spherical sculpture that depicts detailed imagery of the lunar surface as photographed by NASA. It’s a touring piece of artwork created by Luke Jerram.

On that Saturday, the giant sculpture hovered over us inside the Painted Hall, impressive and inspiring. Gazing up at the artwork, my childhood dream of becoming an astronaut swirled in my mind. I was as close as I could ever get to the craters that make up the rough lunar surface.

It was mostly quiet when we saw the moon, except for whispers of conversation as everyone in our group interacted with one another, easing into the day and getting to know new people.

This being my second kindredpacket walk meant that I experienced for the first time the extra excitement of catching up with old friends, as well as meeting new ones who will eventually become the familiar faces I see in the group next time around.

It feels exhilarating, moving and grounding whenever I get the chance to meet people from all kinds of backgrounds, learning about other cultures different from my own and at the same time discovering the many overlaps.

I’m drawn to the ways cultures intersect in one space and, as someone mixed, in one person. And I derive much of my life force from moments and spaces where those intersections flourish. I’ve found kindredpacket walks to be fertile ground for this.

On that Saturday morning, it felt especially comforting to have those meaningful and nourishing interactions with the moon watching over us.

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“Taro with pudding and cream cheese frosting on top,” I happily recited.  

I was sitting with a mix of old and new friends, animatedly talking about how milktea (and, in fact, Gong Cha itself) is huge in the Philippines, where I’m from, and sharing my go-to milktea order.

It was noon and we had come back to Earth. More specifically, we went to Gong Cha’s Greenwich location. Our big group took over the shop as kindredpacket founder David Kam and the team distributed everyone’s orders. We also had some cocktail and pineapple buns from Polly Chan’s bakehouse to go with our drinks.

The week before the walk we all ordered the free milktea we wanted to have. Taro was not on the menu but brown sugar and milk were, and they’re just as good.

At the milktea place, it seemed like everyone’s pent up energy from the Museum of the Moon finally flowed freely. We were chatty, we were loud, we were laughing. It might’ve been the milktea – personally one of my favourite drinks ever – or the cocktail buns. Or perhaps the ice had simply broken, as it inevitably does.

The friend I’d made from my first walk shared she’d never had milktea before and it would be her first time trying it. We eagerly waited for her drink to arrive to find out if she’d like it. Luckily, she wasn’t disappointed. 

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I could hear others speaking in languages besides English – its own kind of music in gatherings like this.

The conversation with a new friend I’d met in the milktea shop also turned to languages. The languages we grew up with and feel most natural to our tongues, the languages we’re learning.

Since moving to London, I’ve developed an appreciation for opportunities to converse in your non-English languages, and at the same time connect with others who, by no fault of their own, process their worlds and cultures through English.

Before we had to leave Gong Cha, my friend from the Philippines arrived. I had invited her to the walk so she could meet more people while she studied in the UK, and also just to hang out. Everyone warmly welcomed her.

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We stood outside a gate that led to some buildings where we heard there were toilets. It was a break before going on the mindful trail through Greenwich Park.

A large chunk of our group decided to pursue the adventure of finding those toilets – a tale I will leave to someone else to tell.

But while they were getting lost on the way to the loos, those of us waiting had our own pockets of chatter. We talked about our heritage, theatre, the creative life, careers in tech, careers in journalism, and the invariable love-hate relationship my friend and I have with our home country.

I watched my friend wave her hands in the air as she chatted so heartily with people she just met.

I took a deep breath and a long exhale, letting the tension in my body float away.  

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“Dried mangoes.”

“White rabbit.”

“Yan Yan.”

Our walk ended with kindredpacket’s signature big circle where we went around and shared our favourite moment of the day and our favourite snack.

As each one spoke, a memory or two would come back to me. I noticed several of the people I met at the Box Hill walk mentioned the same favourite snack. I couldn’t remember which of my many favourite snacks I said then, so I picked another one. I hoped no one remembered the inconsistency.

Once everyone had spoken, the circle compressed as David beckoned us all to the centre, just as he did at the Box Hill walk. He led us through an exercise in mindfulness in which we took in our surroundings and truly focused on where we stood at that point in time, on a grassy slope feeling the gentle breeze.

At David’s prompt, one hand on the shoulder of the person next to us and the other on our heart, we all looked at each other and allowed ourselves to be seen. 

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“My family is from ___.”

“I was born and raised in ___.”

“I’m ___.”

One of the most common topics for conversation at these walks, I’ve noticed, is our journeys. We’ve all come from somewhere to arrive at our starting point for the day.

Some have parents or grandparents who made the trek halfway across the world decades prior, others made the journey themselves in recent years. Some came from the next borough over. At these walkes, our journeys briefly converge, and it probably will again.

I, for one, had just come back from a long trip home to the Philippines on the day of the Lunar New Year walk. And I was still struggling to find my bearings and establish my rhythm.

We ended the walk with the kindredpacket team thoughtfully giving all of us angpao/hongbao/red packets to mark Lunar New Year. Inside was a gold chocolate coin.

A day like that chilly Saturday, connecting with a community that sees you as you are – a walk to the moon – was exactly what I needed.