Home Is Where Your Stomach Rests

The first thing that happens when I arrive at home in the Tri-Cities at 3 pm in the afternoon is not a round of hugs or unpacking of suitcases or hearing about my brother's latest adventures at the DMV. It's being plumped down at the dining room table and getting food shoved in my face.

Before I have even arrived home, our next door neighbor has already brought by a huge bowl of brown sticky rice. My mom has a bowl of fried rice waiting on the table and is busy throwing fruit into the blender. My dad is ladling a bowl of soup for me and my brother is asked to re-heat all the left-overs from lunch. A grandma from church stops by with some home-made red-bean pastries. Within about 5 minutes of my setting foot into the house, I am sitting at a table covered with an assortment of mismatched dishes.

Maybe it's a Chinese thing, or maybe it's because everyone back at home thinks I work too hard (har har) and am malnourished because of it. Whatever it is, their idea of a nice welcome is to stuff you silly. And I'm not complaining...