Over the past month, I’ve spent a lot of time looking into housing with my current roommates. It has been quite a stressful process, seeing as we’re searching for a four-bedroom apartment on a budget, but the excitement of living with friends makes the trouble worthwhile. After a particularly trying day of hunting together, finding only apartments with creepy bathrooms, garages described as bedrooms or listings that simply didn’t exist, I aimed to ease the tension with hope, envisioning the day of our move-in. I pictured us settling in, decorating our space and creating a home aided by the housewarming practices I’ve grown up with.
“I can’t wait for you guys to see my move-in rituals,” I said, sitting across from my roommate. Her immediate reaction was one of incredulous disapproval.Â
My friends know me to be very superstitious, and have expressed some cynicism about this in the past, so to a certain degree, I was prepared when my roommate responded with hesitancy. I smiled in reminiscence and explained the superstitious ritual I was raised with, which involves pouring a droplet of milk into each corner of a new home. It is said to protect your space and bring an abundance of blessings. Â
When my family moved to our home in Brooklyn, my mother asked the movers to wait outside, giving us the time to walk through pouring the milk. She also placed quarters in each corner, sprinkled rice and ensured that flour, sugar and salt were the first items we brought into the home. She walked through the house with sage, a ritual she repeats every New Year. Each of these practices was born from my mother’s love, existing as physical manifestations of her wishes for our family’s future.Â
I should note that I am Indian, Moroccan, Filipino, Spanish and Chinese, which means that I was raised with an abnormally large amount of superstitious rituals. To me, someone who didn’t grow up in a religious home but comes from numerous cultures, these rituals are what I believe in and are the threads that tie my cultural identity together. I have been raised with the understanding that these practices bring good luck, prosperity, happiness, love and longevity. These rituals make me feel safe and protected.
My roommate responded to my description of the milk ritual with an adamant, “Absolutely not. You’re not doing that if we move in somewhere.” The thought of pouring milk in our home disgusted her. She envisioned an awful stench, the loss of our deposit and an inevitable mess. I quickly countered this, assuring her that it was nothing more than a single drop, a tradition I have followed my entire life without issue. Her firm rejection of something so personally meaningful stung more than I expected.Â
In desperation, I turned to the internet, searching for validation; some written proof that these superstitions I’ve grown up with have more meaning than my individual experiences with them. My search yielded very limited information and instead led me to a realization. These superstitious traditions aren’t necessarily part of a larger, structured belief system. They are extensions of the past, often orally passed down traditions that, especially for someone of mixed heritage like myself, are just an amalgamation of different cultures’ beliefs. They are woven together by practice, memory and faith. They don’t require universal understanding or belief, but they do require acceptance.
I have plenty of friends with their own unique superstitions as deeply rooted as my own. Some pour rum in the corners of their homes, while others avoid cutting their nails at night, never split a pole when walking with someone they care about, keep mirrors turned away from their bed or instinctively toss spilled salt over their shoulders. There are countless examples, and every single one of them carries meaning, ingrained in their identities just as mine are.Â
My Moroccan grandmother, whom I call Lola, attributes every misfortune to the “evil eye,” the judgments and jealousies of others that bring bad luck. During the competitive period of the college application process, I clung to her traditions, wearing two necklaces for protection: one with the evil eye and another with the hamsa symbol, which originates from North African culture.
My superstitions extend beyond that. I never toast with water in my glass, never sweep or whistle at night. If I see a penny showing tails, I flip it to heads and leave it for someone else. I won’t open an umbrella indoors, walk under a ladder, or forget to knock on wood or cross my fingers. New Year’s traditions are equally as sacred. I eat whole fish and long noodles, consume 12 grapes at midnight and avoid cleaning, washing or going outside on the first day of the year. This only scratches the surface of the complete list. Superstitions are imbued in every aspect of my life.
While some superstitious beliefs are commonly known, many are specific to certain cultures and passed down through generations by word of mouth. Preserving these lesser-known traditions is important because they keep cultural ideas alive.
To dismiss someone’s rituals is to reject a part of their identity. My roommates may not understand my rituals, but it’s essential that they respect them. I don’t share all of my friends’ superstitions, but I recognize how special they are. These beliefs are not about logic or reason, they are about the feeling of strength that comes from connecting to your heritage, your ancestors and something larger than yourself.Â
They provide a sense of comfort that unites current and past generations. Ultimately, even if my roommates don’t fully grasp why I pour milk in the corners of my home, I hope they understand that, for me, these traditions are not just beliefs. They’re a way of holding onto who I am.