Gingko nuts
This morning I suddenly remembered the ginko nuts that my father had washed, peeled, and boiled for me. The realization that I was wasting my parents' effort gave me a sudden sickening panic. I got flashbacks of my dad (and sometimes mom) sitting at the kitchen table painstakingly peeling the thin skin from the tiny yellow ginko nuts, all for the sake of strengthening my bladder (or kidney, I forget which). How patient and uncomplaining parents are when it comes to caring for their children. And in turn, how wasteful children oftentimes are.
So I hurried to the fridge to eat my gingko nuts, hoping desperately that they were still fresh. I knelt to the ground trying to open the container in the semi-darkness, for I had left the kitchen lights off for fear of disturbing my roommate's sleep. The nuts looked a bit swollen and perhaps moldy. Still, I ventured to eat a handful, chewing them slowly and trying to ignore the strange taste gathering inside my mouth. When I finally gave up and spit them out, I was left feeling such uneasy sadness that can only come from a mixture of guilt and self-disappointment.
Yet I had no heart to throw out the rest of the ginko nuts, and they remain in the refridgerator right now.
On a tour bus a long time ago, my tour guide had told us:
"Parents' love for their children is as long as the Yangtze River. But children's love for their parents is as long as a pencil".
An exaggeration, surely, but I'm afraid the saying contains some truth.
