The cupboards are stacked full of random plates. Some are gold-rimmed with blue flowers. Others have tiny red tomatoes, with the word “delicious” written in fancy black cursive. There are thick plates with chips on the bottom from being dropped in the sink, and paint-chipped porcelain plates that were made in China. They lean over on the wood shelf, not only because one of the pegs that holds it up is missing, but also because of the careless assembling and disassembling process that takes place several times a day.

I always thought that this was because of how many sets of dishware a family accumulates throughout the years–some plates go missing, others break, but instead of throwing out the old set when the new comes in, you just keep adding them up. But over the holidays, I found out that this wasn’t the case.

From the 31st of December until the 14th of January (old New Years), everyone and their mother brings you a plate. No, seriously. Fireworks set off the new New Years, and then it’s like a race to see how many plates one family has in their fridge with leftover food by the time the old New Years rolls around. There’s frosting covered plates with dry cake on them. There’s green-laced plates with boiled chicken on the bottom shelf in the fridge that no one has touched. Then there’s the giant cake-platter dish with gold trim that has half of a snake made out of potato salad, leaning up against the old jar of tomato sauce (it’s the Chinese Year of the Snake, so how could a culture that revolves around food not creatively honor that tradition?).

The longer I live in Georgia with a host family, the more I learn about the culture. Plates and food are just the standard practicum of showing compassion, appreciating tradition, and celebrating where one comes from. For people who don’t have much, it’s quite beautiful to see them offering up the little that they do have to share with neighbors, family, friends and guests. It’s the opposite of materialism: a “what’s mine is yours” kind of understanding. It’s a selflessness that is hard to come by, even though I come from a culture with so much. Individualism isn’t put on a pedestal, and as different as that may be from what I was raised in, I find myself giving up my things for the benefit of others.

As the holidays continue to illuminate each day with a new celebration of the beginning of the new year, I count plates: the golds, the greens, the old and the new, and watch as they flux in number, size, and shape. It’s only the fourth of January, with another ten days of celebration to go, and I’m interested in seeing which plates come and which go, as food is enjoyed and the wine flows.