Mom screamed as she let go of the pearl-color boiled egg from her hand to the dinning table.
“It’s burning hot!” she said.
Curious, I touched it quickly with my index finger to test how hot it is. “It is really hot.” I agreed.
We are having breakfast together. Having an boil egg to go with the white porridge Mom made this morning is to make sure I have enough nutrition, Dad said.
Eager to make sure the egg goes into my stomach, Dad grabbed the egg in front of me, wanting to peel the shell off (Chinese parents show their love by supplying endless food to you and expecting you to finish a mountain of food at each meal. :p)
“It’s so hot!!” he exclaimed.
“Just let it sit for a while, Dad.”
“Let me soak it in the cold water to cool it down.”
I am amused. At this point, the energy being poured into this egg and how important that I eat it has far exceeded any attention I have received from any human beings in a day sometimes in New York.
“The egg will cool down by itself, Dad. We are not in a rush to do anything today.”
The eagerness to speed things are for “efficiency” sake can be a cunning thief to our joy. Sometimes, letting the egg cool down by itself is the most loving and human act we can do for ourselves.
Chinese red tea with Dad.
A new beginning.
The white champaca from grandma's balcony. It's been a year since she left. She is here, just as the fragrance is here...