Highly observants

There’s just something about the way my mother eats her meals. Sometimes I’m just so engrossed and bemused by the way she makes eating more than a necessity; she makes it a passion. Passion, in this case, doesn’t necessarily mean doing it in an obsessive way, just with love. Throughout my whole sixteen years of life, I’ve never seen anyone do quite the same as what my mother does.

Telling others exactly what I mean with this is difficult, let alone trying to write about it. Well here’s me, hoping the power of words will describe my fascination:

Dinners aren’t a usually a big deal in my household – if you want to eat, you may join, if not, feel free to continue on with whatever it is you’re doing. And my mother doesn’t tend to join us a lot; if she did she would come late to the dinner table. She’d take out a plate, place a handful of rice and sit in her designated seat. The rice wasn’t much compared to say, me or my father, but it was enough to fill her up. She then starts with a protein; say chicken or fish, then work her way to getting the vegetables. Here comes the interesting bit: my mother doesn’t care what anyone thinks of what her dish looks like. It may look like the most unappetizing dish in the history of unappetizing dishes but it doesn’t seem to bother her. As long as it tastes good, it pleases her.

My mother loves ‘kecap’. My father detests it. Just the sight of the thick black liquid is enough to make my father squirm a little. In every dish my mother eats, she would ask for kecap. She says, “it makes the dish more alive”. Frankly, I agree with her on that. I have inherited my mother’s love for kecap. Now, a person who likes kecap tends to not like anything of the opposite, like ‘sambal’, and vice versa. Just like my father. My mother’s an exception. She douses on both of these taste enhancers every time. Once everything was on her plate, she starts to dig in. Not in a grubby, stuffing the face, dig in… But in a decadent way. Whatever it is she’s eating, it looks delicious. She makes it look delicious and I believe that’s exactly how one should eat. Perspiration starts to appear on the bridge of her nose the deeper she goes into her dish. But that doesn’t bother her; it didn’t look gross, as one might think. To me, it looks like she’s enjoying herself a lot with something as simple as a dinner. 

Finally, half way through the dish, my mother stands up and walks over to the glass container that’s filled with kerupuk. She grabs a handful not only for herself, but also for both me and my father. It’s the one thing we all like. She puts the kerupuk into her plate and pours some kecap on top of it. The snap of the kecap bottle cap is quickly followed by a sudden simultaneous crunch. 

In a way, I'm sort of envious. I can't deny that I've tried to mimic the way she eats because I've tried countless of times only to be disappointed at the end result. You're probably thinking "eating isn't a piece of artwork - why should you care of how it looks?" and frankly, I don't really know. I guess some things are better left unexplained.

Of course, I haven't told my mother this. I'm afraid if I do, she'll be more conscious about it and maybe even stop and change they way she eats. I could ask her how she manages to do that but maybe some things are better left alone to enjoy rather than imitate. Because really, if I do, I'll be no more than just a copy and who likes those?

Happy birthday mum - here's to the best original of you there ever was!

xo,
S