September New Year
by Sue Lee

In a grade 10 essay, I wrote that the beginning of a year should be in February, because that's when spring starts and the cycle of growth renews itself. Though I cannot find that essay now, I suspect with the cynicism of adult hindsight that the seemingly philosophical essay, however genuinely heart-felt, was largely inspired by crocuses and year-cakes. Now my hindsight tells me that Septembers marked beginnings. More so than new year in early January and the Chinese new year in mid February, or my own birthday that falls somewhere between the two. If scenes in memory were dated like photographs taken with automatic cameras, many debut moments would have "Sept." stamped on the lower right corner. New schools, new cities, new countries, or just a new way for me to look at an old place.

Wouldn't you agree? It was September that saw our kiddie feet take our first step into school - a memory most of us cannot recall with much clarity. More vivid in our minds are probably the September high school nervousness of finding the right seat that would be fixed for the rest of the semester by either teenage territorial instinct or authorial seating plan. Self-conscious of its initiative significance, September dormitory housed that youthful cockiness of being able to afford detachment as independence. For some of us, the post-graduation 8:30am September morning traffic also kicked off the subsequent years of routine commute to work. As students, we've learnt to measure our lives with academic units. The conversion between the calendar year and the school year became instinctive.

For people about my age, successful weaning from the stability of the academic cycle is evident when the Labour day long weekend becomes more significant than the days ensuing it. As a teacher, the school calendar continued and still continues to dictate the ebb and flow of my yearly schedule even when I shed my student identity. But September changed in meaning nonetheless. Where it promised fresh starts, it now offered landmarks, performing double-headed tricks like the Roman god Janus. Janus was the god of gates and doorways after whom January was named. He had two faces, one facing backward to look at the old year and one facing forward to look ahead at the new year.

I have a lot of fond memories of Septembers-- many of which are associated, but not quite so immediately, with school. The mild morning chill in the Port Coquitlam air as I walked to school and the afternoon warmth when I walked home. It was the month during which jackets were worn when going to school and carried when going home. I like the September after-schools when the sky is still bright and my west-facing bedroom glows with the afternoon light. I could pull up the blinds and sit by the big window. Or I could look at the blue sky through the venetian blinds (strategically slanted at the perfect angle for lazy viewing from in bed napping position).

E-mails written in an old September not too long ago describe my fresh attempts to acquaint myself with a new city: "Also unlimited is the number of squirrels running around the neighbourhood. The birds (pigeons, robins, and crows) and the squirrels here have probably been eating too much of Chicago's mafia pizza or something. They fear neither human nor vehicle. The squirrels in front of my apartment would not bother to lift a fur when I stand 20 cm away from him. If you happened to look at him in an unfriendly way, you would be convinced of seeing a bully squirrel wearing a big mafia overcoat and pointing a Tommy gun at you. Then.... if you make a move at him, he'll run like the wind for his furry little life."

And I recall discovering with fascination that starting September the #620 bus departing Shi-Lin at approximately 11:15 would need an extra 5 minutes every Wednesday and Friday to get to its final stop, because the bus driver needs to wait for a crowd of grade ones and twos to load themselves onto the bus around noon, about 4 stops before arriving the grocery store where the kids hop off, and exactly 2 stops away from the bus driver's lunch source - the bento vendor parked in front of the school where I was teaching.
Cue: when School || Bento Truck || #620 bus, the bus driver rests and my workday begins.

September will once again in the future dictate the way we punctuate our years - when we walk our kids to their first day of school, when back-to-school sales connote a necessary expense rather than an optional chance to catch a bargain at Staples. Our lives will once again revolve around school because the lives of the ones we love will revolve around it for many years. From now to then, we still have Christmases, new years, mid-autumn festivals, anniversaries, birthdays, and project deadlines to serve as milestones.

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