The Ching Ming Festival, a traditional Chinese festival with a long history, is a time dedicated to paying tribute to deceased family members and ancestors. For me, it is quiet, restrained and deeply personal.
There is a rhythm to it: sweeping tombstones, burning incense, offering food and the unspoken conversations that linger in the air. In this context, memory is intimate. It begins with blood ties and extends backwards through generations.
And yet, in the past few years, I have witnessed a subtle but meaningful shift in how this tradition is being observed, especially among young people.
