Mooncake festival

Today is the 15th day of the Chinese eighth lunar month, the Mid-Autumn Festival or Mooncake Festival is in full swing with worship sessions by the clanhouses this morning all over George Town. As usual, I had to make my way to the Swee Cheok Tong for our own worship of the Kongsi's deities and ancestral memorial tablets.

The Mooncake Festival is one of the most important occasions for Malaysia’s Chinese community. Falling on the full moon of the eighth lunar month, usually in September or early October like today, it marks a time of reunion and thanksgiving. The roundness of the moon and of the mooncake both symbolise harmony and completeness, reminders of family togetherness that have endured through generations.

The mooncake itself remains the heart of the celebration. The traditional baked kind, with its thin golden crust and lotus seed or red bean filling, sometimes hiding a salted duck egg yolk like a small sun inside, still carries a quiet dignity. But Malaysia being what it is, we’ve never been content to stop there. Over time, the flavours have multiplied: pandan, green tea, coffee, even the durian snow skin mooncake with its soft, chewy skin and aroma. No matter the variety, mooncakes are meant to be cut and shared, ideally with a pot of Chinese tea to temper their sweetness. A ritual of togetherness as much as of taste.

When I was small and still staying in the Seang Tek Road house, my grandparents observed the festival with their own quiet devotion. Around 8.30 at night, the excitement would mount. Once the moon had risen bright and round, we would go upstairs to the back terrace on the first floor. There, they would lay out a simple altar comprising a joss-stick urn, a pair of candle holders, a few mooncakes and fruits, and always the ang kong piah, those animal-shaped pastries that fascinated children far more than the mooncakes ever did.

Unlike the proper mooncakes, the ang kong piah had no filling at all but just a solid lump of baked dough that stuck to the teeth when eaten, but that was part of their charm. Most were shaped like piglets, though occasionally there'd be a fish or some other animal shape among them. What truly delighted me was the packaging. A little dough piglet snug inside a tiny plastic cage, bright and colourful, like a toy pen you could carry around afterwards.

If the weather was fine, the full moon would shine above us, bathing the terrace in its soft glow. My grandmother would murmur their prayers to the Moon Goddess, Chang’e, while we stared up at the sky, wondering if we might actually see her, until Apollo 11 changed everything. Nevertheless, those were simple nights, unhurried and filled with quiet wonder. These were  the kind of moments that remain forever. Even now, whenever I catch sight of the full moon at Mid-Autumn, I can still picture that terrace at Seang Tek Road, the smell of incense curling in the air, and the small cages on the table bathed in the moonlight, all reminders of a gentler time and of family.