“月亮圆　月亮圆　月亮照在我的家
没有春夏秋冬的家　流传千年”

The lyrics speak of a timeless home, one untouched by the seasons.

This song, by Malaysian artist 山腳下男孩, has been echoing through our home lately. I taught it to my girls not long ago, and it quickly became their favourite bedtime song. The first time we sang it together, I felt a wave of nostalgia—the kind that quietly fills your chest and almost brings tears to your eyes. Now it has simply become part of our nightly rhythm, a familiar and comforting melody that connects us to home, no matter the distance or the season.

This is how the Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋节) found us this year, in a quiet moment in our little corner of the Netherlands.

A Quiet Evening, A Full Heart

We celebrated Mid-Autumn this year — just family and a close friend with Chinese roots. I cooked a few familiar dishes: broccoli with honey walnut shrimp (奶油虾) and a stir-fried fish dish, while my mother prepared beancurd-skin spring rolls (腐皮卷). We shared mooncakes (月饼) and watched the children play with their lanterns before taking a short evening walk. The sky was dim but not yet dark — that fleeting moment between day and night when everything feels calm and tender. It was a simple evening, yet beautifully full.

It was also my mother’s first Mid-Autumn in the Netherlands. Watching her smile as the children ran around with their lanterns reminded me that celebration doesn’t always need a crowd—sometimes it’s enough to just be together. The weather had kept us from going to Antwerp’s large public festival, but maybe that was just as well. The evening felt calm and gentle, focusing entirely on reunion and shared moments.

Lanterns and Legacy

As the lanterns swayed in the cool wind, casting dancing light on the pavement, I thought about the core meaning of this festival: family reunion under the year's fullest moon. It's a tradition that has traveled thousands of miles and thousands of years to land right here, in a Dutch neighbourhood.

It made me reflect on how The Mandarin Leaf began—as a small seed of connection, a wish to nurture heritage and belonging in our everyday lives. That desire to bridge cultures and pass on our legacy felt particularly strong on this moonlit night.

These traditions remind me that heritage isn’t just about rituals or recipes—it’s about the quiet moments that remind us who we are and where we come from.

Maybe next year, when our circle grows, we’ll join a larger celebration together. But for now, this quiet night—family, a friend, and the moon—felt complete.

May the same moonlight reach everyone we love, wherever they are. And may we all find those small, comforting connections that bridge the distance between us and home.