What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?

In my family, we don’t worship every month,

but almost every national holiday seems to come with a reason to “do a little ritual.”

Lunar New Year, Ghost Festival, Tomb-Sweeping Day, Winter Solstice, Dragon Boat Festival…

Offerings for ancestors, deities, and occasionally, a “just in case” visit to the local earth god.

Honestly, I’m not against these traditions.

But more and more, I find that even when we want to keep them, it’s not always easy to do it right,

or even just to get it done.

I remember once, one of my elders was gently corrected by a relative—

not because we forgot to offer food, but because we got the order wrong, or the colors of the offerings were off.

After that, they got anxious and started watching traditional ritual programs and reading books to get everything “correct.”

But most of those books assume you live in a spacious countryside home with a big yard,

plenty of space for tables and incense burners.

They don’t exactly account for cramped urban apartments, time constraints, or environmental limits.

Take burning joss paper, for example.

In the past, it was about arranging offerings properly—left side for deities, right side for ancestors.

Now we’ve simplified things a bit: we use low-smoke “eco” paper, and no longer stress over exact positions.

Still, one of the rules my elders insist on is that we must burn it at the front entrance on the ground floor.

The problem? That area is usually crammed with parked scooters.

To clear enough space for a small fire takes serious effort every single time.

We’ve considered using the balcony instead, but that risks damaging the plants.

It’s not that it’s impossible, but every time we go through it, the question remains: is it really worth this much stress?

We’ve Tried Changing Things — Some Worked, Some Didn’t

One year, I suggested we try skipping the paper burning entirely.

“Let’s just light incense,” I said, “and offer our intention sincerely. That should count, right?”

To my surprise, my elders agreed.

That year, we didn’t burn anything—just a quiet, respectful offering.

But afterward, they admitted something felt… missing.

“It just didn’t feel complete,” they said.

Not because of superstition, but because the act itself—the sound, the smoke, the rhythm—had been with them for so long, it became part of what “felt right.”

So Where Do We Go From Here?

We’re still figuring it out, together.

Sometimes we find new ways that feel good. Other times, we fall back into what’s familiar.

And that’s okay. We’ve learned not to push too hard or expect overnight change.

Instead:

• We keep looking for practical alternatives, and share what we find with each other
• We try to help one another adjust—not by forcing, but by gently understanding where each person is coming from
• We focus on staying in conversation, rather than chasing perfection

Every family is different, and so is every solution.

We may not get everything right, and we don’t have to.

What matters most is that we keep showing up for the ritual—not just for tradition’s sake, but for one another.

If the way we adapt still brings us closer, still carries meaning—

then maybe that is the kind of tradition worth keeping.

A family is a family, as long as we find our way through, together.