In this memory, I’m about ten. Every afternoon, I come home from school feeling hungry. As my house comes into sight, my head is full of what I might eat for snack once I get back home. My mother usually has something prepared for me, whether it’s some snack bread, some sweets she’s got from a neighbour, or a rice ball she’s made from freshly cooked rice.
Today, however, I realize that my mother’s car is missing from the garage, signaling that she’s on an errand. It’s going to be some time before she comes home.
I unlock the door, run inside, then run all the way to the kitchen. All the while, I’m thinking of something to eat. There must be some snack somewhere in the kitchen. I’m sure of it, and I’m determined to find one.
I rummage through the cupboard and check inside the cabinet and on a shelf, but no matter how hard I look, I cannot find any snack, not even rice crackers. My mother has apparently done a good job at keeping snacks away from my sight.
Finally, I come to the rice cooker and open the lid. What awaits me there is the left-over rice from last night – !
I scoop up some and make a rice ball. I try not to take too much so that my mother won’t notice it, but eventually my greed and hunger get the best of me. I finish up all the rice except a spoonful.
When my mother comes home, she goes to the kitchen to store away all the groceries. She hands me a snack she’s bought for me, then opens the rice cooker to store away the old rice.
“Oh,” my mother’s puzzled voice echoes in the kitchen. “I didn’t realize how little rice we have left!”
I’m happily helping myself to the second snack of the afternoon, but stop for a second to exclaim in an innocent voice, “Oh, really?!”
From that day on, snacking on the leftover rice becomes my secret pleasure whenever my mother is out on an errand.