Can’t get out of the habits of telling you things, even after you’d been, gone, translated…
“Dad, is the apple that Snow White ate like this one?”, reading the phonetic spelling fairytale books, chewing on that sour and sweet, green apple from Lishan, I’d raised the apple high up in the air to ask dad. “No, my darling, the one that Snow White ate was red, deeper than the color of chili peppers, kinda like the cherries, with that sweetened scent, and very sweet, a lot bigger, than the green apple.” My dad patted my head lovingly, pointed to the green apple, and did his best in describing the apple that Snow White took a bite out of to me.
“Holy SHIT! You only earn $250 a month, and, you took, $50 to buy an apple, that’s, such a waste!” my mother took my father’s earning pouch, and started calling out in anger to him. “How can you call something that fills the stomach a waste? We’ll just, not spend as much this month and we’ll make do!”, my dad smiled and placed an American imported Washington apple, placed it in my hand. Carefully, I’d, carried the apple, with my two little hands, and, I’d, held it, and, two days later, I’d finally, taken, a very small bite out of it, slowly, so, this, is what the “poisonous apple” tasted like, mmmmmmmmmmmmmm, yum! On the year I’d turned seven, I’d tasted, the flavors of the fairytales.
“Baby, how does the wonton taste?” “Daddy, this blended egg is so good, slippery, scented, like the jasmine flower, blooming in the soup, I want to come back next week.” I’d used, my limited vocabulary, to describe, just how yummy it is. “Not blended egg, it’s wonton, if you say it wrong, then, the owner won’t make any more for you!”, my childhood memories are almost, all related to food, I’d bugged daddy, to find me the good eats throughout the streets, and, I’d, gotten, very good, at describing the meals we’d come to share.
making the memories right now, not my photograph…
As we’d gone all over to try the various food items, my dad became, trained in cooking too, he is so excellent he can own a small diner. I’d gone up north for college, I’d, stared at my buffets at lunch, crying, and missed how yummy, how tasty my father’s specially prepared meats were.
The five primary tastes of food, “Sour, savory, bitter, spicy, and sweet” are like the five ancient phonemes of “Gong, Shang, Jiao, Jen, Yu”, in the magician’s wok, producing, a table’s worth of delicacies, and I basked, in the love of the food god, giving my dad applause, encores, and whistles too, and gotten my dad to make for me, dish, after dish of yummy foods, and I’d, stalled, on learning to cook from him.
“Dad, this green onion soup noodle has your taste in it, but, the green onion wasn’t fried long enough, such a shame, without that scent, yours in better.” I took, on spoonful of soup, and, ranted aloud, then, I was, reminded of how, he was, no longer here…………what, will I do now? I still, can’t get rid of my habits, of telling him what I’m eating.
something we’re doing right now, that became something we can savor later on as we get older, not my photo still…
So, this, is how deep the memories were, because this woman’s father showed his love for his children by making the delicious items, by taking her young child to try different foods, and, the woman grows up, loving her father very much, the time they’d spent, talking about food, that, became a way they connected to one another, and now, the father is no longer here, and, she’d, missed him…
Life, the Obstacle Course 