Greetings, and happy full moon! How’s your summer been? Who wants to stay outside at the beach, and who’s ready for fall?
This one is a “seasonal blue moon,” which means there are 4 full moons this summer, as opposed to 3…. But only one this month. Full moon math can be complex!
The other notable quality about this moon is that in the Taiwanese and Chinese lunar calendar, this full moon is the occasion for Hungry Ghost Festival, or Zhongyuan Festival. During Hungry Ghost month, the superstition goes, the gates to the underworld open, and ghosts come and lurk among us for the whole month. During the festival, offerings to ancestors feed our families’ hungry ghosts, so they will return to the underworld sated and not bother us again until next year.
Sounds fun, yes? A little creepy, no?
Well, I wrote about Hungry Ghost Festival in my forthcoming book, Where Every Ghost Has a Name, so I’ll share a little teaser excerpt below.
Also, these are some places where I’ll be doing events this fall (stay tuned on Instagram @the_kimlet for more updates and on my website, kimliao.com):
And here are some ways to pre-order the book:
https://bookshop.org/p/books/where-every-ghost-has-a-name-a-memoir-of-taiwanese-independence-kim-liao/21307821?ean=9781538194058
And finally, to those hoping to jump start your writing again, work on the craft of memoir, or find community with other writers, I’m teaching my online Flash Memoir class again in November, so please join us if you’re interested!
https://www.writingco-lab.com/classes/writing-flash-memoir-fall2024
And now, without further ado, more on Hungry Ghosts!
See you in September, when my book baby will be released to the world! And don’t forget to feed those hungry ancestors tonight!! Just a little offering of love or a fond memory may do wonders.
From Where Every Ghost Has a Name: A Memoir of Taiwanese Independence:
Before one of our Taiwanese friends left for grad school in the States, we gave her a farewell dinner in her neighborhood of Neihu. Afterward, she drove us up to the hills of Yangmingshan to see the beautiful view of the Taipei skyline at night. “But don’t get too close to the edge or the railing,” she warned us. “Hungry Ghost Month [guiyue] just began last weekend. Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. A breeze on the side of the mountain picked up, and all the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end.
“The whole seventh lunar month is Hungry Ghost Month,” she explained. “The superstition is that the gates of the underworld open up, and the ghosts all come out and visit us for the month. People go to temples and make sacrifices and offerings to placate the hungry ghosts. The fifteenth day of the month is Zhongyuan Jie, or Hungry Ghost Festival. Keelung Harbor has a beautiful festival. They send burning paper lanterns out to sea so the ghosts can find their way back home.”
Something about her words resonated in the core of my stomach, like the reverberations of a ringing bell. I felt like I had been haunted all year by Grandpa Thomas’s ghost, and now in my final weeks here, the country was spending a month celebrating hauntings? It almost seemed too perfect. At home, I Googled “Hungry Ghost Month” and learned about a bunch of the superstitions, advice, and taboos recommended during the month. Here are some friendly tips for how you can avoid being sucked into the underworld by a hungry ghost:
Don’t go out after dark.
Don’t go swimming, cross bridges, or linger near water.
Don’t climb mountains after dark.
Don’t say the word “ghost.” Instead, say the word “zhaoxiongdi,” or good brother.
Don’t get married or have any other celebrations during Hungry Ghost Month.
Don’t buy sculptures, dolls, or puppets.
Don’t go to funerals, cemeteries, or other places where ghosts like to hang out.
Don’t whistle.
Don’t move into a new house, buy a new car, or go on vacation.
Don’t open your umbrella indoors.
Don’t pat someone’s shoulder or head, or alternatively, don’t turn around if you feel a pat on your shoulder—because it could be a ghost.
After looking this up with my friend and new expat roommate Tascha, my jaw dropped. “Wait, is there anything I can do this month?” I asked, agape.
“Wow, this list is quite extensive,” she said. “When I lived in China during Zhongyuan Jie a few years ago, it was not nearly so spiritual or superstitious.” As a Chinese translator, Tascha had studied abroad in China, and was fluent in Chinese—helping me tremendously navigate both written and spoken Taiwanese history resources throughout my time in Taipei. But she too, was new to some of Taiwan’s cultural idiosyncrasies, such as their interpretation of Hungry Ghost Month, and the way Taiwanese folks celebrated their Hungry Ghost Festival.
“I think I may want to go to the festival in Keelung,” I said. Keelung was just about an hour north of Taipei by bus. “They light paper lanterns on fire and send them out to sea. Sounds both fascinating and therapeutic.”
“Sounds awesome!” she said. “I’d love to come along.”
* * *
We stepped off the train at Keelung Station and practically tripped over the Hungry Ghost Festival parade. Floats festooned in lights with intricate scenes depicted in papier-mâché came dancing down the street; there were illuminated paper people, animals, stars, boats, and mythological creatures. The floats were followed by firecrackers, music, bands, and dancers. It was the most festive celebration for the dead that I’d ever seen.
My friends and I walked along, following the parade to the harbor front. Then we asked around for directions to the beach where the water lanterns—shui deng—would be set on fire and cast out to sea. No one knew exactly when it would begin, but we figured it would be obvious. The flaming lanterns would float out into the ocean to guide the ghosts back home.
As we waited, I remembered from my research that Keelung Harbor is also where the Nationalist KMT soldiers landed from China when they began their bloody execution march on March 8, 1947, the killing spree in response to the 2/28 Incident and Chiang’s arrest list.
I took a deep breath. I had been feeling haunted by Grandpa Thomas’s ghost and the other hungry ghosts whose stories were suppressed during the White Terror period. I was finally realizing that, by telling Grandpa Thomas’s story, I would be doing my part to honor his legacy and maybe this would release him. I felt like perhaps attending the Hungry Ghost Festival might help him rest in peace. Or at least, maybe it would help me sleep.