Chapter 3
My mom brought me some free-range eggs today, saying they were nutritious. I accepted them, but she didn't leave. She said she wanted to cook something delicious for me, and I couldn't stop her. She wouldn't let me help either. When I was watching TV in the living room, I always felt like someone was watching me, but when I turned around, I only saw the back of my mom's head. I bet she was secretly watching me.
This reminds me of the first time I came home with you. I was sitting in the living room talking to Dad, and you were sitting across from me. You saw Mom secretly watching me from the kitchen behind me—oh, she was still my aunt back then. You blinked so hard I didn't know what you were doing. Later you said you were exchanging telegrams with Mom.
"Mom, what do you think of your daughter-in-law? She's so cute and quiet, she's practically perfect!"
"Mom wanted to throw the spatula in your face"—that's what Mom said later.
Actually, my first attempt at eating was terrible. I have a habit of not touching food unless I can finish it. It probably stems from when I was little, living with my older brother at my grandma's house. She liked to cook big pot stews, giving everyone a large bowl, and we weren't allowed to leave any. No one ate leftovers; if we did, we'd get scolded. So we had to finish our food, or it would be a waste. I developed this habit: if I'm not sure I can finish the rice in my bowl, I won't eat it. I can't leave any leftovers, even if I'm not full yet.
So when my mom served me a second bowl of rice, I refused, but she insisted on serving me a full bowl. I looked at the bowl, hesitated for a while, and then said, "I don't want to eat anymore. If I don't finish it, there will be leftovers, which will be a waste."
Mom said, "Eat as much as you want, as long as you're full."
I never said this when we ate together, and you were surprised by my strange theory. You moved your chair closer to me and said, "Food is for people to eat. The main thing is to eat your fill. I'll eat the rest. It's okay."
You spoke so sweetly about how gentle and considerate your boyfriend was, but when we got home, you gave me a sour look and interrogated me for half an hour. It's a habit I developed as a child. My grandma never served me even half a bowl of food, and she wouldn't let me leave any. She probably thought that this would ensure the child had a balanced diet and was full, so even if I didn't like it, I had to finish it. As a result, I developed the habit of never asking for a second bowl, no matter if I was full or not. You still think I deliberately hid it from you, and even after we got married, you still bring it up to suppress me.
You're always right; you always win.
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