拌面 and 扁肉. Those were my favorite
foods as a child. Living in China, not a day went by when I didn’t get my fill
of it. Although my grandmother and mother would laugh at my obsession they
would still comply with my wishes. My recollection of my childhood and few and
blurred but I can still faintly remember the peanut buttery taste.
This is my daily meal.
Breakfast: nothing. Lunch: salad. Dinner: steamed broccoli. Not that
interesting but healthy I believe. Sometimes it gets switched up when my mother
cooks. The amount of Chinese food (not the ones in take out restaurants) or
non-western food I consume has decreased significantly.
My grandmother often
comments on how I’ve changed since moving to America. According to her my
extroverted personality has changed. She tells me about how I would dance
everyday for the other adults. Currently, dancing is something I would never
do. However food is what she talks about the most. “You don’t eat as much anymore, especially meat. You used to love
eating meat!” During elementary school on vacations I’d visit my
grandmother in New York and each time she’d cook lots and lots.
Primary school. It’s the
one part of my life that I wish I had couldn’t remember. If possible I’d
exchange it for a blank slate. Upon my arrival my English was limited and being
the only Asian child in class it was always very awkward. Right after nap time,
it was snack time. The other kids would take out their cookies and animal
shaped crackers and chips all carefully packed into zip lock bag by their
parents. From my bag I withdrew a red bag of small shrimp tailed chips. My
snack was definitely different from the others.
“Where’s your snack?” I hated that question. When I stopped partaking in the ritual of
eating after napping, my teacher began to give me her snacks. Although they
were American and I would no longer be asked “what is that” I wasn’t satisfied
with it.
Around middle school my
grandmother began to predict the future. She would still cook a lot during our
stay but just not as much as she used too. “Does
it taste good? You’re American now. Would you rather eat pizza?” Although I
repeatedly told her that it was fine she didn’t seem to believe me. “When you get older you’re going to get sick
and tired of coming here. You’ll stop coming here.” I remember how I
immediately denied that claim. Just the thought of it was enough to make me cry
as child.
Since I started high
school I’ve went to visit her about two or three times.
CGS is a really unique
school. I never expected that there’d be school focusing on Asia and the Middle
East and I never expected that there’d be so many students.
I always hated phone
calls. They’re annoying and I never know what to say. My grandmother would call
me a several times a months. How are you doing, is school fun, etc. She was
particularly interested in health. “Did
you eat yet? You have to eat properly. Make sure you don’t starve.” My answers were either a “yes” or “okay”.
The only phone calls I
ever receive now are from my father asking when I get out of school. I still
think phone calls are a waste of time but those short conversations were nice.
Thanks to CGS I was able
to study Chinese for two years, but I have yet to use it at home. When the
thought of them laughing at my American accent and horrible pronunciation comes
to mind I don’t really feel like showing them my improvement. However I am
still Chinese, even though I’ve lost my mother tongue.
A couple months ago my
mother asked me what my favorite food was. I told her I didn’t know because I
didn’t. But whenever she makes拌面 I never reject it. A part of me still craves the peanut buttery taste from 13
years ago.
