with the various fillings…
Translated…
In Taiwan where there’s a surplus of food, the distributions of rice and noodle cultures aren’t clear-cut, on this street corner, someone is hollering out to sell the steamed rice buns, on the next street, there would be, the aromatic breads of the bakeries. In the assortment of smells, perhaps, there’s that, ordinariness, that can, move the hearts of the people, busying around and about.
The wheel snack is, an ordinary and abundant food item, in my memories, the moment it was made, the white smoke that rose from the girdle, had found its place, parked, outside of a small handcart outside of my kindergarten, I’d once, glanced over, to try, to decipher the secrets of the grills, the owner filled up the fillings inside the holes with the batter already poured in, waited for over ten seconds, then, combining with the outside that’s been formed in the next slot, like a surprising short film. But, I usually couldn’t, make it to, the grand finale, and I was, led home, by the growling stomach.
The time that I’d gotten that very first taste of how sweet and moist the coverings of the wheel snack were was on the season that was starting to turn cool, when I was six years old.
My father who’d spun around like a top regularly, on one autumn afternoon, as the sun started to set over the light blue skies, showed up outside my classroom door. I was, ecstatic, because I’d never seen my father, during this time of day; I’d always waited for my grandfather to come and pick me up, I’d hopped out of the class, with my shoes in my hands. And, just like so, a father in his suit, with a young girl who still that that scent of childishness, saw that aromatic stand outside of the schools. The shadow I’d casted was, dragged out, very long by the setting sun, and back then, my pebble-sized heart can only have the scent from the wheel cake, with the saliva, filling up my mouth; if I was willing, to turn my head back to see, the bumpy shadow on the tarp that my father casted, I’d definitely find that my father’s shadow, carried that weightiness about it.
But, don’t know why, the last scene from my memories, I sat, on the passenger side of my father’s car, clung on, tightly, to the wheel snack my father bought, and, stared hard, into that gone-in-a second smoke, I was, very, satisfied. At the age of six, how complex can my thoughts get, I’d be blessed, if I could have that wheel snack to savor. As I bit into it, the covers were, broken, and the sweetened fillings overflowed, as if, to remind me now: we’d often get trapped by the emotions that occurred in an instant, but, so long as I’m able, to break through, I can have the good times coming towards me again.
That day, the two people on the driver’s and the passenger’s side carried the various emotions. As I got older, I’d learned, that back then, my father had had a hard time at work, and, even though, he was, pressed by the pressures of living, he’d not, affected me at all, helped me saved my worry free childhood days. This, was the love my father had shown toward his family.
And now, thinking back, the overly sweet taste of the wheel cake, all of a sudden, mixed with the bitterness of the memories, became, deeper to me.
So, that, is the father’s love for his daughter, no matter how hard times got, the father still gave what the child wanted, and, the child grew up, sheltered from the troubles of the economics, because the father wanted to keep his daughter’s childhood worry free………