“What is that?”
My friend asked me this when she saw the little “altar” I’d set up in the corner of my living room.
I say “altar” because it’s not really an altar. Calling it such makes it sound much grander than it is. But it’s meant to be respectful, a visual touchstone to my culture and the festival that my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents celebrated. I don’t normally set up altars in my home, but I wanted to do something for Ching Ming or Tomb Sweeping Day, and this was what I could come up with.
It’s a candle, two little cups my grandfather had used to pour wine out for the dead (more on that in a moment), a food offering, and some Hell bank notesI’d picked up in Brooklyn’s Chinatown a while ago. It (vaguely) reminds me of the little altar I’d seen in my grandmother’s house, the one my parents used to make me bow to when I was little.
As I snapped a picture for my mom I wondered if it was in some way inviting “bad energy”? So many times I’ve thought I was doing something that was good for the feng shui in my home, but in fact it was the opposite (oh, all the ways I’ve misplaced mirrors!). But if the intention is to honor my ancestors, those dead relatives I miss whose graves are across an ocean, as well as to simply consider death and the dead, could it be so wrong?
I don’t quite know. And because I share so much of my life on the Internet, I wonder if someone will stumble across my picture or this post and roll their eyes at the, “The ridiculous ‘ABC’ [American Born Chinese…which I’m not, but I definitely pass as one] being ‘more Chinese than Chinese.’”
Ah the paranoia of oversharing!
But, call me old-fashioned, I really love Ching Ming. I love that there are days reserved in life for remembering the dead and thinking about death. In my humble opinion, the west could benefit from more days reserved for such contemplation.
But what is the festival of Ching Ming?
In Chinese communities around the world – China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Indonesia, America, Cuba – Ching Ming (Qing Ming in Mandarin) or Tomb Sweeping Day, also called Ancestor’s Day, is a day to honor the dead. Traditionally it is also one of the days in the solar calendar that signals the beginning of a new season; a time to plant crops and begin life anew in warmer, sunnier weather.
Sometimes you’ll see people flying kites for Ching Ming, in the cemetery or in a park. There might even be kites flying at night, with lights or lanterns attached to them. A person might cut the string of their kite and let it sail away – and with it, their troubles.
Ching Ming is a time to replenish the crops, replenish one’s energy, and replenish the dead.
Families descend upon cemeteries to clean and scrub graves, place fresh flowers, pull weeds, burn incense, and lay out feasts of the dead’s favorite food and wine (suckling pig, roast duck – THE GOOD STUFF). It is believed that death is not the end of one’s existence, you just move on to another existence. And you need things in that next life. Woe be to the dead whose family forgets them, does not feed them, does not send them money and goods.
And how are such cash and comforts sent to the dead? Through fire of course.
So the dead can get to the offerings their families have for them, the currency and items must be burnt. Beyond the “Hell money”, bank notes made specifically for the dead, a family can buy almost any paper item that the dead might desire.
Loved beer? Burn up a few paper San Miguels (the popular cheap beer in Hong Kong) for the dead.
Couldn’t get enough tech? Burn a paper iPhone, laptop, or TV.
Cars were their thing? Take your pick of paper Lamborghinis, Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, or whichever their car of choice was.
Paper clothes, paper games, paper buildings – I’ve even seen a paper McDonald’s if that was your jam – almost anything can be purchased at the shops that sell paper goods for the dead.
Though anyone can go and buy paper items for their dead loved ones, in the past such gifts required much more of a commitment. During the Shang Dynasty, 1600-1046BCE, living sacrifices would be made to accommodate the dead.
Commoners would be entombed with butchered animals, whereas nobility and wealthier people would be buried with servants, wives, concubines, whoever they might need beyond the veil. Lucky for them, but not so lucky for their entourage – they would all be sacrificed to “follow their master to the other world”.
Sometimes people would simply be sacrificed to please gods and gain favor in the afterlife – burning the sacrificial individual was the most popular practice though decapitation worked too, and sometimes the master’s people would just be buried alive with them. During the Zou Dynasty, in 621BCE, Duke Mu of Qin had 177 living people buried with him.
Though the practice was outlawed repeatedly throughout the ages, it took a couple hundred years for people to really give it up and embrace paper burning.
When I lived in Hong Kong, I remember a usually quiet, seemingly forgotten hillside cemetery coming alive during Ching Ming. Smoke filled the air and groups of dutiful families were gathered graves with plastic containers of tempting foods. The air smelled like smoke, incense, and sticky-sweet barbecue. Of course the food would not be wasted, the families would usually indulge after the offering was made, sharing the meal with the dead.
The cups on my little altar were my grandfather’s, my Gong Gong’s. He would use them to pour a little wine outside his front and back door for the ghosts that might try to follow him home during festivals such as Ching Ming, Hungry Ghost Festival, or even New Year’s. At least, so says my mom.
When he couldn’t go to the cemetery anymore he would place the little cups, filled with wine, on the family altar, alongside the tablets memorializing the dead, and make offerings there.
Not everybody goes to the cemetery, some people cannot make the trek, some people no longer have graves to visit. Cemetery space is so limited in places like Hong Kong and China that many graves are recycled after a time if the family cannot afford to keep the plot. So people celebrate at home.
When I showed my mom my altar, she was both pleased and wary.
“OK. You didn’t put water in those cups did you?”
I did.
“You need to put wine or tea in them. Something special. You must show respect. Especially to Gong Gong.”
Oops. So I put some chrysanthemum tea in the cups this morning, because that’s all I had (and felt fitting).
“You have to burn that Hell money. Don’t leave it around, bad idea. Plus it’s worthless to the dead unless it’s burnt.”
I had every intention of doing that…somehow. Unlike my neighborhood in Hong Kong that was quite amenable to folks burning ritual items in metal containers on the street (during the Hungry Ghost Festival my street was all smoke and incense), my Brooklyn neighborhood might not be so understanding.
“Do you have Hell money lying around in your house?”
I do. I like it. I wanted to do something arty with it.
“Don’t do that. Get rid of it. Ghosts will come looking for money in your house. Don’t invite more ghosts in than necessary!”
My mom is sure that my “coffin-shaped” bedroom is some sort of beacon for the dead. So far the walls haven’t bled. Yet.
Lastly, mom reminded me that I should bow, at least do one set of bows, to the dead. Yat, yi, sam – one, two, three – I have so many memories of my mom counting off the bows at the altar in Gong Gong and Por Por’s (grandma) home or at the family graves in Hong Kong.
During Ching Ming, you’d often see groups taking turns bowing at a grave, starting with the eldest and going down to the youngest.
I haven’t bowed or burnt anything yet today. The altar sits in my living room, my cats fascinated but keeping their distance (unusual, maybe spooky, but mostly I think it’s because they hate the smell of oranges).
And though I’ll probably get in trouble with my neighbors and feel a little funny bowing in my living room, I’m quite happy to do so. My day has an extra deathly veneer on it; it’s surprisingly peaceful, I feel connected to my dead family.
I hope you get a chance to visit the grave of a loved one today. But if that’s not possible, maybe pour a little wine or tea for them, and let this day serve as an excuse to pause and think about our mortality.
Happy Ching Ming!