Lanterns line the streets of Beijing on 7 February (Xinhua) 

For over 10 years, the Spring Festival has shaped the tempo of my life in China. Yet this year carried particular significance. It was my daughter’s first Spring Festival, her first glimpse of scarlet lanterns, festive couplets, reunion feasts, and the embrace of extended family. In that respect, this year’s celebration was both cultural and generational.  

When I first came to China 10 years ago, the Spring Festival was something I watched rather than truly lived. As an international student, I usually stayed on campus during the winter holiday. The university made genuine efforts to involve overseas students in festival celebrations. We attended meals, learned about dumplings and rice cakes, listened to accounts of the zodiac and viewed recorded excerpts from the Spring Festival Gala of national broadcaster CCTV. The food was enjoyable, the decorations thoughtfully arranged and the explanations detailed. Even so, the experience felt rather formal and removed, as though observing a culture from the outside instead of being fully immersed in it. 

A new beginning 

Everything began to change after I met my wife. As a Chinese language teacher for foreign learners and a dedicated scholar of Chinese culture, she introduced me to the Spring Festival not as an academic subject but as a living tradition woven into everyday life. Through her, I gradually understood that the festival is less about spectacle and more about reunion; less about fireworks and more about the enduring continuity of family. 

Each year since we met, we have prepared our home with quiet intention. Red couplets are pasted on the door, symbolising good fortune and renewal. The character fu (fortune) is carefully displayed. Before New Year’s Eve, we thoroughly clean the house, a ritual that represents sweeping away the old year’s misfortunes to welcome the new year with clarity and hope. 

On New Year’s Eve, we prepare a traditional reunion dinner and settle in to watch the Spring Festival Gala on CCTV, the annual televised celebration that has become a ritual for countless families across China. This year, official figures reported 13.5 billion new media views, with total viewership reaching approximately 677 million by midnight. Globally, its content generated 2.309 billion reads, while video views rose to 843 million, an increase of 43.61 percent compared with last year. Such impressive numbers testify to the Gala’s unique place at the heart of the nation’s collective celebration. 

After dinner, we usually stroll through our neighbourhood to admire the lanterns and fireworks. While fireworks are a cherished symbol of the festival, many cities impose strict regulations to ensure public safety and reduce environmental impact. The Ministry of Emergency Management frequently releases safety notices reminding residents to celebrate responsibly. As a foreigner, I have always been careful to respect these guidelines. Rather than setting off fireworks ourselves, we prefer to share the moment with our neighbours, watching the vibrant flashes of light brighten the cold winter night. 

This year, however, the festival carried a profoundly different meaning. Our daughter, just over three months old, became the newest participant in this unfolding tradition. As I held her beneath the soft red glow of lanterns, I felt the Spring Festival deepen in significance. She will not remember her first reunion dinner nor the warmth and laughter that surrounded her, but we will. One day, we will tell her how she slept peacefully through it all, cradled in love as another year quietly began. 

 Fireworks light up the sky over Nanchang, Jiangxi Province, on 17 February (Xinhua) 

Strength in unity 

What made this year particularly meaningful was the time we spent with our Chinese friends’ family. Before travelling back to their hometown to celebrate with parents and grandparents, they warmly welcomed us into their home. We shared dishes prepared with care, exchanged heartfelt blessings and spoke thoughtfully about the year that had passed and the hopes we carried into the next. In those quiet, intimate moments, I came to fully appreciate the Chinese saying, “家是最小国，国是千万家” meaning “The family is the smallest unit of the nation; the nation is made up of millions of families.” Often quoted in modern discourse, the phrase captures a deeply rooted cultural belief that the vitality and resilience of a country ultimately depend upon the strength and harmony of its families. 

Historically, this understanding of family unity is firmly grounded in Confucian philosophy. Confucius placed great importance on filial piety and social harmony, viewing them as the ethical foundations of a well-ordered society. While the modern phrasing often linked to his name may not appear verbatim in the classical texts, the underlying idea is unmistakable: moral cultivation begins within the family and from that intimate sphere radiates outward into society at large. In this way, the harmony of the household becomes a reflection of harmony within the state. 

Coming from Rwanda, I cannot help drawing parallels. In Rwanda, family gatherings hold a sacred place in our social fabric. During major celebrations such as Christmas or national commemorations, extended families reunite to share meals and reaffirm bonds. In Kinyarwanda, there is a saying: “Umuryango ni wo musingi w’igihugu” meaning the family is the foundation of the nation. Though expressed differently, the philosophy resonates strongly with the Chinese understanding. 

There is also a Russian dimension to our celebration. My wife’s cultural background connects us to Russia, where New Year stands as the most important family holiday of the year. Much like China’s Spring Festival, it revolves around reunion dinners, festive decorations and nationally televised programmes that bring millions together in a shared moment of anticipation. According to Russia’s Federal State Statistics Service, the New Year period consistently ranks among the most travelled and family-centred times of the year, as people journey across vast distances to be with loved ones. In both cultures, winter celebrations highlight warmth in the face of the cold, offering not only physical comfort but also emotional closeness and renewal. 

Watching my wife pause to admire the calligraphy, glowing lanterns and vivid red decorations this year reminded me how profoundly aesthetics is interwoven with Chinese cultural identity. Streets, shopping centres and residential communities seem to dissolve into oceans of red and gold, as though the entire social landscape consciously participates in renewal. Every couplet carefully pasted on a doorway carries echoes of the past, linking the present household to generations who marked the season in much the same way. 

In 2006, China’s Spring Festival was officially included in the first national list of intangible cultural heritage, affirming its status as a living tradition transmitted across centuries. Experiencing it now not only as an observer but as a husband and father, I better understand the source of its endurance. It is more than a holiday; it is a cultural thread that quietly binds together families and, through them, the nation itself.