The way into a man’s (or in this case, a woman’s) heart, is through the stomach! Translated…
“Hey, did you ever use those two temperature control bowls I’d given you?” yesterday, mom inquired.
“I’d left them in Canada.”
“Did you ever use them?”, she’d, continued.
“Well, I had, actually.”, I’d, started, smiling, and everything else she’d said afterwards, went through my ears.
I’d gone to my senior year in high school in Canada last year, gained quite a lot of weight in the past twelve months, it wasn’t because of the fish and chips, or the burgers, but S. S was like a devil, disguised, as an angel, from the moment we’d met, I’d, become, destined, to fatten up.
The first time I met him was in my economics course, and, what made us recognize one another, was our Asian looks. Although the class was busy, left us no time to chit chat, but, we’d, stayed after class together. I’d, read the biography of John Lennon, with my graded exam under it, he’d, slowly, leaned in, asked, “Aren’t you taking the county exams tomorrow?”
The county exams are an English exam for the Ontario region, an exam that I must pass, in order, to graduate. I’d, nodded, and reminded him that he’d needed to bring his own lunch tomorrow, that he couldn’t go out to buy. “But,” he’d, frowned, “I don’t want sandwiches anymore!”
The next day, I’d brought two lunches, eight slices of toasts, a box of stewed chicken feet, stewed bean curd. And, the aromas had, everybody leaning in, a couple of my Chinese classmates became like puppy dogs and begged, “It’s been ages since we had the stewed chicken legs”, I can only shake my head to them, “All of these, are for S.” As we ate, we looked out the windows, at the white snows, and he kept saying, that he needed to, take me out for a meal, I’d shrugged, and smiled. And ever since, I’d been, eating what he’d, made for me.
S is a good able-bodied man, the foods he’d prepared, are extremely, delicious, and, his way of making the rice, was extraordinary too—but that was because, he’d, originated from Hunan, everything he’d added the chili to, the rice with chili, the meats, the fried pork chops. Originally, I’d had, difficulties, digesting anything spicy, but since he turned into my chef, my ability to withstand the spiciness, increased; the very first time, he’d made the meals for me, I’d, started crying, because of how spicy the foods were, to the end of the year, I’d, eaten down, that legendary spicy turkey noodle, without, changing any colors.
But what I’d loved most was, not those lunches that were, never the same, but the two temperature controlled bowls I’d, mentioned to my mother on. I’d not skipped, a single course last year, nor had I, taken any leave of absence, it’d, broken my own rituals from back in Taiwan, especially the once-a-month periods. I’d, carried my cramping stomach to school, and, as I’d returned home, my face looked, awful, I’d fallen, limp on the desks, didn’t even want to, raise my hand, to answer any questions. This was, too apparent, the teacher asked me, “Who’s been, picking on you?”, I’d said sorrowfully, “My uterus!”, S heard, and asked me why I didn’t, have any brown sugar with water? I’d told him, I only liked the red bean soups, but I didn’t know how to make it; which was, true, I’m, an idiot when it comes to cooking. S told me he could make it, but he didn’t have a temperature controlled cup to bring it to school to me in. I thought he was, only joking, so, I’d told him, “I got two temperature controlled bowls, you can have them then.” But after school that day, he actually, went and got the beans, and, made a whole pot, and, don’t know why, he’d, separated the portions for me. What’s odd was, the soup he’d made, tasted like mom’s.
Later, it’s, as if, S became, addicted to cooking, he’d, made the red bean soups, the green bean with barley too, even the heated grass jelly, and, as he’d, made the foods, he’d still, made fun of, how my face, looked, rounder now. In this process of me, fattening up, he’s the one responsible for it—and, as the rest of the classmates came, to ask him for the soups he’d made, he’d always replied, “I’m saving this for C.”
A long time later, we’d, thought back to the time, and found, that this line was, equivalent to, “I love you”. And back then, we had, yet to know, and wondered, why the soups tasted, a bit, too sweet.
And so, this, is the man, who showed you that he loves you, in his actions, he’d, made the soups for you, to help you feel better, and, you were, appreciative of him, and, that is what made the two of you closer, and now, you two are together, as a couple.