Tuber Or Not Tuber

I've always thought of myself as more of a tuber plant than any other ordinary plant. Why is that so? Well, as opposed to other plants whose roots are underground, I believe I play the major role in keeping myself grounded whilst my roots are well... on top of my head, so to speak.

My grandmother was from China, so she knew everything Chinese. Then came my mom who only picked up half of it and passed on what she thought she knew, which isn't much, really, to me who really didn't give a shit at all. I ate what was served to me and if I liked it, I would learn it in Chinese so I can order at restaurants. And I did whatever I was told blindly in terms of traditions.

It wasn't until this week did I have to find that shovel to dig myself out of that ground a.ka the shit hole I've been buried in all along.

See, The Boyf wasn't feeling too well this week and I would first like to address two things. The first being, he is such a dude who knows nothing about taking care of himself when feeling ill and two, his western upbringing allows him to think that fried chicken is OK if you're having a sorethroat. Just eat, so you don't die. Explaining what is 'heaty' for your body is just as bad as explaining what is 'Lah' to the world. I guess it's an Asian thing.

So, I found myself cursing Cliffside Park for not having a Chinese grocer nearby to buy ingredients. I had to make do with whatever I could find in the fridge.

I've always associated porridge to prison food and dying. Hence, I never had the desire to learn how to cook it and when I am forced to eat it, I would be too sick to learn anyway. So this week, I had to channel my inner warden and cook up what I would like to call a traditional dying meal. The Porridge.

Then, I had to make soup. I hate soup. In the name of 'Love', I had to make some and the easiest soup to make would be the infamous ABC soup but all I know about that is DEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ. So once again, I channeled my inner kindergarten cafeteria lady and learned how to make this dish.

This is not just limited to food. When I served him the soup, it came with a glass Chinese spoon. He turns to me and asks for a metal spoon instead. When asked why, he said it's angled in an awkward position and he's not used to it. Kindergarten cafeteria lady then morphed into chemistry teacher where I had to explain that metal + hot soup = burnt tongue. Such smart creatures these Chinese people are.

When you're across the world, your world turns upside down. Metaphorically speaking, my tuber is now inverted and my roots are now grounding me.

Since we're on the subject of plants, I would also like to add that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. With all the drink more fluids nagging and take your medicine reminders, as much as I hate it, I'm beginning to sound like my Ah Ma.