Is mahjong the new sourdough? As a Taiwanese American therapist in the East Bay, I've been reflecting on why this game is having such a moment, and what it can teach us about cultural identity, heritage language loss, and the deep human need to belong.
From Sourdough to Mahjong: What Our Hobbies Reveal
During the pandemic, many of us turned to sourdough. We fed our starters (mine is named Jolene) and found comfort in tending something alive while the world felt frozen and uncertain.
No longer on lockdown, I now hear the clatter of mahjong tiles. Unlike sourdough, mahjong can't be done alone. It takes four people around a table, often for hours, engaging in play. It makes me wonder whether this is just the next passing trend, or whether something more meaningful is being called forth.
Growing Up Taiwanese American: Belonging Beyond Language
Some of my earliest memories are of being in the room while aunts, grandparents, and my parents played late into the night. The conversation moved quickly in Taiwanese and I could only catch pieces of it but I still held an understanding. I knew the thunder of tiles being washed across the table, the crisp clack of a discard, the laughter and arguing, and the small cups of tea refilled without words exchanged.
I didn't have fluency, but I had the sounds and I knew I belonged.
For many children of immigrants, heritage language loss can carry a quiet grief and a sense of standing just outside the circle of family and culture. At the same time, I've come to appreciate how much connection is passed down through sound, touch, and ritual. Our bodies hold our generational legacies, even when our tongues do not.
More Than a Trend: The Cultural Roots of Mahjong
It would be easy to dismiss mahjong as the latest fad, with its designer tile sets and curated game nights. But beneath the aesthetics, this game carries generations of gathering. It has been played in crowded apartments, at weddings and after funerals, across oceans and through migrations. For many of us, it is a thread back to where we come from.
Fads come and go, but connection when we tend it, takes root.
Community and Healing Among Asian Americans
Today, I play with a group of mostly Asian American women. Some of us grew up watching our elders play and some are touching the tiles for the very first time. Amongst the clatter, the “PENGs!”, and the discussion of the rules, we share our own stories now.
We don't all play the same game. Some of us learned Hong Kong style, others Taiwanese, Filipino, or Vietnamese, each with its own house rules. And yet, we still play. To me, this is so quintessentially Asian American. We have never been one story, but many languages, migrations, and family histories. None of us has to give up our own experience to belong. We can each hold our own lineage while gathering in affinity around what we share: parents who crossed oceans, the push and pull between cultures, and the longing to stay connected to where we come from. We don't need to play by the same rules to recognize each other, and that gives me so much pleasure.
What moves me most is the relief of not having to translate ourselves. The experience of living between cultures, of carrying our families' hopes and silences, is simply understood. Together, we are reclaiming a practice our elders carried across oceans and making it our own.
Learnings from the Mahjong Table
Belonging often arrives in the body before it arrives in words. Long before I could follow the conversation, I could feel the room. We know that the body holds language and knowing beyond words.
Language loss is not the same as culture loss. Grief about what was not passed down can sit alongside the connection we still carry. Honoring both makes room for healing rather than shame.
We can be in opposition and connected in relationship at the same time. Sometimes, being opponents with the people we care about can sacrifice connection, but the power of play allows for the relationship to be held within those stances.
Play invites us to hold control loosely. Mahjong uses strategy, flexibility, emotional intelligence (reading the room), and discipline. Sitting with what we cannot control, while still choosing how we play our hand, is a practice many of us need far beyond the table.
A trend for some can be a doorway for others. Something popular can still lead us somewhere meaningful, if we walk through with curiosity and respect for its roots.
What This Means for Therapy
In my work with individuals, couples, and parents as a somatic therapist, I witness again and again that belonging isn't only built through talk. It can be held in sounds, smells, tangible objects, and shared food.
When I named Camphor Tree Healing Collective, I was thinking of the scent of camphor in my childhood home, a smell that meant healing was happening. At its heart, our collective is about connection with ourselves, with each other, and with the communities and histories that shape us.
Sometimes that connection is found in the present moment, through something as simple as play. These moments never happen in isolation. Each time we sit down at the table, we are joined by generations of people who played before us, including ancestors we don't even know by name. We may never learn their stories, but we feel them nonetheless in the familiar sounds, in the laughter, and in the sense of belonging that rises up in our bodies before we can explain it.
A Reflection for You
What rituals from your family, culture, or community have helped you feel held, even without words? What might be waiting to be reclaimed?
