The vibrancy of Chinatown gets me every time. It's what I grew up with. Some don't get my deep obsession with anything that connects me to my Asian roots, but I'll stand by it with a bubble tea in both hands. Firmly. This blog ain't called COLOR Me Nana for nothing. I appreciate the way my senses go into a wild overdrive in this part of the city, and especially so during Chinese New Year. The bakeries, the firecrackers, and yes, even sometimes the fish from the street markets feel somewhat homely. I love it all. I can't remember a year when I didn't head to the Chinese New Year parade with my family in whatever city we happened to be in during that time. I remember being extremely scared of the dancing dragons as a child, but I loved the sound of the thumping drum and the way I felt it beating in my chest with ever pound. My mom always filled a red packet of money for my sister and I to save up for whatever our hearts desired. We held onto our red packets for years, all for the sake of good luck and good fortune. Chinese New Year means years and years of childhood confetti dreams and fried rice dinners for me. And never a year goes by that I regret attending the parade to once again watch the dancing dragons (I'm no longer scared) and to hear that pounding drum beat over and over again.