2014. The year of the horse, the animal I was born to inhabit. My parents steamed whole snapper, swimming in a pool of soy sauce and green onions. At the dinner table, my mom lit lavender candles, the moon suffused our food through the window like a prayer. Blue light from the iPad’s iridescent screen, my parents laughing over some Chinese game show, pirated on YouTube. I wanted to pause this family movie, live inside the moment where our chopsticks clattered like wind chimes as we stuffed mouthfuls of rice, bok choy, fried tofu with steaming egg inside. After dinner, I thought about some resolutions I would never meet. My brother and I waited for the dumb joy of midnight, watching the Big Apple fall on the TV as if the crowds’ mayhem would diffuse through osmosis. And it did, my brother and I smiling, synonymous with their cheers. We Facetimed our friends, wished each other good fortune for the new year. Guileless like the horses we were, we didn’t notice the countdown in the room over. The seconds until my mother’s voice wailed with the fireworks, my father’s fist exploding against her cheek.