My first childhood memory of mahjong is from my paternal grandmother’s 80th birthday, when I was 7 years old. I remember all the uncles and aunties standing huddled around the mahjong tables set up at the side of the banquet hall, where my two sets of grandparents were playing. I can still hear the shuffling tiles and intermittent yells from the winners as my cousins and I ran around giggling. To me, the sound of mahjong is the sound of happiness.

You see, when it came to any celebration like Chinese New Year, birthdays or anniversaries, you could be sure that mahjong was being played somewhere in the building. There was no cocktail hour—it was mahjong hour, and it went right up until it was time to serve dinner. Even now, on any given weekend, aunties and uncles of mine play all day and pull all-nighters, sleeping through the day on Sunday. Why? It’s yeet lau (lively) and it’s a symbol of celebration.

To many, mahjong is not just a game. It’s a way of life, especially for immigrant families. It’s a game you can easily play with strangers, but it’s also a time for families to bond, bringing generations together.

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