May You Belong
A Lunar New Year Wish
You are reading Ask The Patient by Dr. Zed Zha, a doctor’s love letter that gives patients their voices back. If you enjoy it, please comment, like, share, and/or subscribe!
My Lunar New Year morning started with fighting a nightmare. Since my moving to the United States over 15 years ago, my dreams have rarely been narrated in Mandarin Chinese. But this one was.
In my dream, Immigration was rounding up Chinese immigrants around town — the grocery stores, restaurants, parks, and finally, my house. I had spent the past decade going to classes or working on Lunar New Year while my parents made dumplings and fried peanuts on the other side of the world, wishing I were home.
Last year, I finally could provide for my parents and moved them in with me. In my single-minded determination to celebrate the rest of their lunar new years together, being with them now makes all the time we’ve spent apart worth it.
The bad dream threatened to take it all away. It felt as if my world was ending—everything I had ever worked for, every ounce of courage my ancestors had distilled in me, was not enough to earn out a simple wish for togetherness.
Serving a migrant worker and immigrant community, my nightmare is many of my patients’ reality. I get to wake up to a Lunar New Year celebration. They get to live in fear in an ending world.
The day before my nightmare, a little girl walked into my clinic, freshly arrived in this unfamiliar land. She clung tightly to her mother, as if letting go would shatter the fragile sense of safety she had left. Neither of them spoke English, but a language of fear that needed no translation. I wondered: Was she afraid of me, a doctor who might bring the sting of a needle? Or was she afraid of something far worse—that I was part of the system poised to tear her from the only anchor she had left, stripping away the last remnants of home, of belonging?
I wished desperately for the former.
When I arrived home last night, my mother popped her head into the garage as always: “You are home! The water is boiling and the dumplings are almost ready!”
My heart is a pendulum. And she is its resting place—the quiet sanctuary that steadies my falls and gives rise to every ascent, the constant that holds me, no matter how far I swing.
There are many ways we wish someone a happy new year in the Chinese language. As my Chinese friends send them to me, they are all “too cheery” for where I stand and the world my patient community lives in.
So, it feels important for me to rewrite them.
恭贺新喜（gōng hè xīn xǐ, direct translation: congratulations for another year）
May the worst year rest behind you,
its shadow shrinking beneath the brilliance of who you’ve become.
And if this year feels dim to your eyes,
may your heart reveal the light within—
the one that has always been yours to shine.
心想事成（xīn xiǎng shì chéng, direct translation: what the heart wishes, comes true)
May your heart desire the same things as those who love you,
filled with good dreams, nourishing food, safe shelter, and childlike laughter.
If your wish comes true, may it remain steadfast,
now and always.
And if it doesn’t, may the path you walk
lead you to a place where you need not wish for anything.
合家幸福（hé jiā xìng fú, direct translation: happiness to the whole family）
May your family be whole,
in presence, spirit, and the light that unites you.
If you must fight for it, may your path remain clear.
But if you stray, may you never forget the songs your loved ones sang,
carrying you forward to where you belong.
步步高升（bù bù gāo shēng, direct translation: step by step, rising higher)
May your steps be guided by the wisdom of your ancestors,
rooted in the inherent worth of your existence.
As you rise, may you honor those who lifted you,
and should you fall, may you find yourself cradled
in the unwavering embrace of those who will always catch you.
"As you rise, may you honor those who lifted you,
and should you fall, may you find yourself cradled
in the unwavering embrace of those who will always catch you."
Thank you for writing and sharing all of this with us.
Your writing touches me deeply. Both your deep compassion for the immigrants and their difficulties, as well as your light that shines in hope, the reminder of the strength we have. Thank you for saying it so clearly and beautifully. ♥️ May the new year bring strength and joy to you and your family in the coming year.