a bowl of rice

IMG_4255The noise of utensils clanging became loud. Aroma of freshly cooked rice wafted. I could feel my mom busying herself in the kitchen.
I looked at the clock, stopped the alarm, got up and got dressed.
“おはよう – Good morning.”
We hastily ate as we took our seats around the dining table. Dad first, then me, my brother, and finally, my sister. Mom remained busy until we all left.

The commotion of busy morning rituals was also filled with love. I am grateful for that.
Whenever I cook rice, it reminds me of my childhood.
Not quite the same since I now have to eat brown rice. None of us remains young forever, do we?






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8 thoughts on “a bowl of rice

      1. I seriously compare it to a cross between grass and green rooibos tea that hasn’t been roasted.
        Maybe I cooked it wrong; I’ll have to write a entry on it later in the month.


  1. One of the best accounts I’ve ever encountered in the blogosphere. Each passage is delicately couched in choice of tender words to evoke warm feelings. It has captured essential aspects of good-old morning ritual so vividly that it could help anyone go down memory lane into their childhood. Thank you for the great piece. Look forward to reading your materials.
    英語教室 lingo-Field

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You don’t HAVE to eat brown rice, saffron is much nicer! but your evocation of your childhood is done exactly as the prompt hoped.Truly perfect. Rice and cabbage in a bowl of soup on the sidewalks of Asia still take me back to the city where I met my wife. I started my life with her when we met with her cooking my breakfast at her stall as I made my way to the office in Saigon.Two thirds of my life ago, every second remembered with tenderness, love and rice and cabbage. Thanks for giving my heart such a lovely reminder.

    Liked by 1 person

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