Chinese New Year is just three days away. Somehow, the excitement I had as a kid anticipating this occasion has dwindled over the years. I guess I have become more complacent with age. Experience has numbed me to the thrill of heralding in another season. Each celebration is a stark reminder that I have added another ring to the trunk. Each new spring intimates that I have one year less to accomplish what I have yet to attain. Festivals do this to me. They make me melancholic. They bring out the worst of mid-life crisis in me.