The Table, the Horse, the Morning

In my girlfriend's family,
they make Bánh Tết the week before —
cylindrical rice cakes wrapped in banana leaves,
slow-cooked for hours
until the kitchen smells like patience.

In my father's tradition,
we set the table with intention —
each dish a word we couldn't say out loud.
Fish for surplus. Dumplings for wealth.
Spring rolls for gold bars
no one had but everyone wished for.

I used to think New Year
was about resolutions.
Lists of things to fix about yourself
written on December 31st
and abandoned by the 15th.

But Tết taught me something different.
Làm Mới — beginning anew.
Not fixing. Not improving.
Just — starting fresh.
Clean house. Settled debts. Open door.

The fire horse does not resolve.
It does not optimize.
It does not set quarterly OKRs
or build a vision board on Pinterest.

The fire horse moves.

And movement is the only resolution
that has ever kept its promise.

So here is mine:

I will move.
I will build.
I will ship what matters.
I will sit at the table
and eat the food that took three days to make.
I will honor the grandmother
who taught my girlfriend
how to wrap banana leaves
tight enough to hold a prayer.

I will be the first foot
through my own door.

This is the year of the fire horse.
This is the morning of the ring of fire.
This is the table.

Sit down.
Eat.
Begin.

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— FrankX, February 2026