writtensoul [dot] net

Hanging out with my mom always gives me a new way of looking at things–a different perspective on life.

One of the first things I do whenever I come home after being away for a while is to inspect my mother’s pantry and refrigerator. She caught me in the act of checking out what she had stored in the refrigerator, so I sneaked into the dining-room-turned-pantry room to steal a peek. I noticed a curious can of “soya granules” by a company I had never heard of before. “What in the world are you going to use soya granules for?” I inquired. My mom quickly replied, “I don’t know…but they were 70% off at Whole Foods!” You see, at least if it’s cheap and more than half off, you should buy it–regardless of whether or not you’ve even heard of the item before or ever seen it used in a dish. I soon realized that much of the rest of my mother’s new collection of food items had also been acquired during this Whole-Foods-is-moving-so-everything-is-70%-off sale.

As I continued my perusal, I noticed three gigantic super-Costco-family-sized bags of different kinds of chips. I yelled, “Mom, why do you have so many chips all for yourself!?” She replied, “Well, Jessica, you know that–that [insert my brother's name here]–he was so mean on the Google computer, he was eating kettle-cooked potato chips and he didn’t have any to share with me [through video chatting] so–so I had to go buy some.” Okay, so she had food envy–but why the gigantic bags? I asked why she bought such a huge bag and she said, “Well, that was all they had!” “Where?” “At Costco” because clearly you can’t buy normal-sized bags of potato chips at other grocery stores. Anyway, she rightly blames the purchase on my brother for making her endure cruel and unusual punishment of watching him eat kettle-cooked potato chips and not offering to e-mail any through the Internet.

The opening sentence to my Fulbright personal statement application reads, “Many of the formative events in my life have occurred in a grocery store.” At the suggestion of one of my early editors, I crafted my statement around two critical incidents in my life that took place in grocery stores and then hinted at the potential of creating more memories in a Taiwanese grocery store (I was applying to Taiwan). The first experience details a story my mom has retold to me over and over again of my habit as a three-year-old to ride in the front seat of a grocery cart, grab a brochure, and pretend to read it aloud despite having no reading skills. A few times, a fellow shopper would pass by and, curious, ask my mom if I was actually reading. My mom would chuckle and reply that I was just pretending to teach. Even at age three, I knew that I wanted to be a teacher. continue reading »

Three Cups Chicken (San Bei Ji) is a traditional Taiwanese dish.  Its name originates from the three liquids that are supposed to be combined in equal ratio: soy sauce, sesame seed oil, and rice wine.  I recently cooked a huge batch (over 20 thighs chopped) for my small group and decided to share the recipe.

continue reading »

There’s something incredibly calming about watching the snow fall.  Even though it comes through the same pathway as all types of precipitation, snow is something different in itself.  Snow isn’t loud and frightening like rain nor is it attention-grabbing and icy cold like hail. Snow is silent and speechless.  It could cover the whole landscape in just one night and not make a sound but just surprise you when you look outside your bedroom window.  It’s powerful in its presence and silent in its step.  Snow is gentle as it flurries down ever which way, taking it’s time.  It’s not in a rush like rain or hail is to meet the ground and make its presence known; no, it just wanders around in the sky and takes its time as it meanders down and caresses the ground. 

I walked through what seemed a blizzard today and I watched as the wind swept up the little snowfall on the street there was and whisked it away.  And I stood for a moment admiring the snowflakes dancing down the sidewalk to their own quiet melody.  The snowflakes glittered my wool coat making their own unique imprint–each staying for only a few minutes and then melting away.  I shivered every time a snowflake landed on my nose and I smiled every time a snowflake melted as it kissed my lips.  When I got to an open expanse, I was engulfed by a sea of snow blowing around.  Every which direction I turned, I saw beautiful snow.  And I could only ponder on and imagine the Universe where God was up in heaven directing the whole scene–like we decorate sprinkles on a cupcake, God designed this breathtaking painting for us to enjoy.

I don’t know if it’s the Asian-American in me or maybe the shy social awkwardness in me, but I hate using my horn when I drive. Sometimes, I know I should, but I don’t. I think it’s because when I get honked at, I freak out and I hate the sound of it. It’s so intrusive and 95% of the time I get honked at, it’s because I know the light is green but it takes me longer than it should to engage into first gear from neutral. I know, that’s probably more of a testament to my poor manual driving ability, but I still don’t like getting honked at. So, when I find myself in situations where I could use the horn, I tend not to because I want to give the other person the benefit of the doubt that they are trying their best and give them some leeway and patience—because, trust me, I know how it feels from the receiving end. I do realize though, in some more extreme conditions like when a car is about to merge into my car, I should probably honk the horn—but somehow I get scared.

continue reading »