Superstitions: The Nightly Guest
A personal narrative by Malia Hang
The summer breeze brushes my cheeks and ruffles my hair. The sun slowly waves goodbye as it inches away waiting to return the next day. The sky wraps me in a bundle of orange and purple clouds as I wave back to the sun. The already dried mud sits comfortably under my nails. I turn to look at my beautiful, delicious mud soup. I thank the tree that supplied me with its generous pinecones. Without it the soup could have been a disaster. The daisies floating on top are my special touch. I call my brothers and cousins around to see what I made for them. They’ve been saving the village from tigers all day. It was the least I could do to help. They munch and slurp away the soup in seconds. Bouncing back up on their feet, they hand me their bowls and pick up their guns. Another tiger has been sited in our backyard. I rush to the fence and close it as fast as I can. My chest rises and falls from the amount of air I intake. Loud shots of parading bullets fly by me. The tiger roars and charges forth towards us. I pick up a stone and throw it as hard as I can hoping it injures the beast. My brothers yell for me to get back and get inside. The tiger runs towards me as I scream for help. I can feel it’s hot breath on the back of my legs. My cousin pulls out his handy dandy machete and slice the tiger in half. The village shouts in happiness for we once again survived the day. The sky has turned dark black with specs of light from the stars. My mother screams from the top of her lungs “Kids! Time to come inside!”. In a high pitch choir ensemble, we replied “Okay, we will!”. I dust off the dried mud on my hands and knees. Another day of success. My brothers and cousins race to the door. I sit on the steps of my grandmother’s house. I have to greet the arrival of our daily nighttime guest. “Hello Moon. Welcome back.” My cousin bends down to sit next to me. He starts apologizing to our guest. “I’m so sorry for offending you yesterday.” I look at him confused on how he could have offended the moon. He reaches for his right ear and shows me the slight thin scab cut. “I pointed at the moon last night and I woke up with this.” Still confused I press on, “What do you mean?”. He laughs and calls me slow than dashes back inside. I chase him around the house with one of the nerf gun used in our battle. My grandma laughs from the comfort of her couch, watching me chase him like a special in Tom and Jerry. My mother tells me to stop and wash my hands. I do as I’m told and make way to the sink. My aunt comes over with a plate of food, “Go eat. Go eat.” I grab a plate and spoon, prepared to enter a new battle. I push my way through the savages of boys grabbing for more food. At last, my hand grasps the rice spoon. The boys move out the way as my grandmother joins us. The adults sit at the table as all the kids gather on the ground and eats. My cousin with a chicken leg in his mouth proceeds to laugh at me. “She doesn’t know that pointing at the moon is wrong.” My older cousin bops his head making him drop the drumstick. He looks at me with concern, “Did you point at the moon?” I quickly answer, “No, why?” His face relieved, “Good. When you point at the moon it comes down and slices your ear. It’ll come when you’re asleep and cut whatever side you pointed at it with.” Slightly scared I ask, “Why would it do that?” He responds, “I don’t know. I just know I did it once and woke up with a cut. My dad said it was because I offended the moon by pointing at it.” I try and think back to a time where I pointed at the moon. My mind runs as blank as a white paper. “I don’t think I ever pointed at the moon but if I do will I always get cut?” My older cousin laughs, “No, if you point at the moon and realize you pointed at it you can lick the finger you pointed at it with and shove it in your ear.” My face crinkles in disgust, “Ewe. How does that help?” The adults have been listening in and laughs. My dad makes his serious face and looks at me with concern, “Don’t do it. I did it when I was a kid and my ear got cut too.” My uncle chimes in agreeing, “Yup. If you do it, you’ll wake up with an itchy cut on your ear.” My cousin shows me his ear one more time, “See? That’s why I apologized.” I look closely and see the crusted dried wound, “Did you lick your finger and put it in your ear?” He sets his plate down, “I almost forgot.” He licks his right index finger and puts it in his ear. My older cousin looks at me with a face that screams “don’t do it”. Everyone lines up to put their dishes in the sink and head off to bed. I make my way to the three giant windows in my room. The moon’s light glows on my face. I promptly ask it, “Why can’t I point at you? How is it offensive? Why do I have to lick my finger and stick it in my ear? I don’t get it.” I make a fist with my left hand and extend my index finger slowly. I slowly raise my finger up in the direction of the moon. Halfway up the dragging path of my finger with full intention to risk my ear, two of my brothers runs in and jumps on the bed. I turn to join them. The springs of the bed bounce up and down below our feet. My mother closes the light on us, “Go to sleep. Now.” We all get under the comfort of our protective sheet. Scared to stick a leg out in case a ghost grabs it. She plugs in our night light and turns it on. Our nightly guest shines through the window as I fall asleep.
To this day I still wonder why I can’t point at the moon and I’ve never dared to. Growing up in a traditional Hmong household with immigrant parents, aunties, uncles, and grandparents, I’ve always been told what not to do. “Don’t whistle at night.” “Don’t clap at night.” “Don’t forget to call your spirit home.” “Don’t talk out loud at night-time.” “Don’t respond if you hear someone calling your name late at night.” “Don’t point at the moon.” And the list goes on. Orally, I’ve been given the stories of personal experiences with what happens when you do these things, and the outcome is never good. Superstitions are nothing new to various cultures and ethnicities. In this interactive graph various countries have shown interest in their google search on superstitions.
These superstitions originated somewhere a long time ago and has been passed down to generations after generations. In Hmong culture, the majority of superstitions stems from an event that took place way back then. They also come from the religious beliefs of traditional Hmong people. Shamanism and a mix of animism is the religion that originated a lot of the dos and don’ts of Hmong people. Superstitions and taboos originated from the oral history of a Hmong person who did it and regretted it. They serve as teachable lessons for the next generation to not get harmed. It’s hard to find an actual article on these stories and I wish I could provide written sources, but these superstitions were firsthand experiences growing up and being told. My grandmother has so many of them and she can go on and on with the stories of each. I plan to pass them down to my children as well. Not in a way where it scares them but keep as a tradition. I wanted to share the event of not pointing at the moon and how it came to be in my life. It seems silly, but I believe in these superstitions for a reason. It’s a gut instinct at this point. In the YouTube video below I speak to another Hmong person on what they grew up being told and her own personal experience as well. What some superstitions you believe or find ridiculous?
Resources: Firsthand Experience, Interview with Chin Lee, Grandmother: Tria Lee, Google Trends, and MNDaily article linked below.
https://trends.google.com/trends/explore?date=2010-01-01%202021-05-06&q=%2Fm%2F0bn3l
