Desmond and the Rice-bowl.

I don't know when it was exactly that I started eating rice out of bowls. I didn't before. It's a deeply Chinese thing, eating rice out of a bowl, so much so that in Chinese, the terms are used together. Fan Wan. The thing is, my family isn't deeply Chinese. Mandarin isn't even my primary language. And I don't have the fair-coloured skin that my country-men have come to associate with the Chinese (even though we all know how inaccurate that can be). And rice-bowl-Chinese-ness is often left, in my sub-conscious mind, to my grandfather's generation.

When I was younger, I ate my rice out of a plate. I remember still that there were cartoons on that plate: right on the centre, and along the brims. Eating was much like a prize; you ate to finish, because finishing meant you could see the picture hidden underneath the rice. And if you couldn't finish, you were reminded of the staving children in Africa. I'm sure at some point in time, I wondered why we had to finish the food we couldn't, if there were people elsewhere going hungry. Wouldn't the decent thing be to eat only what you needed, leaving the excess for the hungry people? But I guessed I got the sentiment: we eat because we are thankful that we are fortunate enough.

I don't fancy rice. When I was in Ireland, someone heard that and exclaimed that they had found the one Asian in the world who didn't like rice. I found it slightly amusing, that he made the assumption, because... do all Asians like rice? Should all Asians like rice? Isn't that a little presumptuous and small-minded? But its an idea that I take for granted myself too. I hadn't quite realised it until he said it, but the instant he did, I questioned it myself too. I took for granted that all Asians (or at least all Chinese) loved rice, much like at one point in my boyhood, I took for granted that I had rice that the Africans did not have.

Sometimes we take for granted how we are wired, on account of our culture, our families, and our environments. We take for granted the effect Change has on us. I took for granted all that, and even the fact that as un-Chinese as I consider myself to be, I've recently swapped my rice-plate for a rice-bowl. Yes, maybe it's because I hate rice, or that I just want a smaller portion and a bowl is more practical, but I've started eating rice out of a bowl. Maybe I'm growing up--heading towards the grandfather generation. Unlikely, but I'm not going to be presumptuous. After all, I'm the unlikely Asian who hates rice.


(It's 3am and I'm wide awake, and of course, musing and wondering. I've been working on my FYP, which might explain--I'm trying to figure out why I'm thinking like that too--why I'm suddenly thinking about my Chinese-ness. It's something I hardly think about, but it's something that I feel is unique to citizens of my Sunny Island. We are a mix, and a testament to that is my mini-insomnia: it's the Indian teh tarik I drank for supper just now. I just want to sleep. :( )