school lunch exercise

I was not prepared for today's class. I turned in an unfinished draft of my portrait, and I didn't do all the readings. Between the work trip to Chico and the family trip to LA, I didn't have the time or energy to put the necessary effort into my writing. I feel bad about that.

Still, I tried to participate as much as I could in the discussions without being dishonest or wasting anyone's time. Our in-class assignment was to write about a school lunch, preferably one we had brought from home. As soon as our teacher finished his sentence, I knew what I wanted to write about. This was in stark contrast to my experience with our first in-class exercise. I spent the first third of that period wracking my brain for something to write about.

This time, I wrote quickly, trying to capture all the snippets of ideas and memories that were flying out of my head. I didn't do a lot of editing on what ended up on my page. I post this first draft here; I'll be working on it for next class.

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Middle school - sixth grade. I had just returned to the U.S. the previous summer after living in Korea for four years. I had an insulated, pink Mickey Mouse lunch "box" that was made in Japan, bought in Korea. Mom had packed lunch for me that day. Mom's a great cook. I took it proudly to school.

Lunchtime - sitting on the concrete stairs behind the library. Peers surrounding me. They looked at my meal: white rice and a few banchan. I don't remember all the different types. Suddenly, someone yells, "Eww. What's that?" pointing to the tiny anchovies - less than a centimeter long - that my mom had fried and prepared. Their bodies had become translucent after contact with the hot oil.

"Are you eating fish eyes? That's gross."

By now a small crowd had gathered. They proceeded to make fun of my meal and me. I suddenly felt helpless. I wanted to stand up and tell them how great my mom's cooking was, how tasty Korean food was...how stupid they were. Of course, I said nothing. Tears welled up in my eyes as I remembered how late my mom had stayed up the previous night to make that meal, how much work and care had gone into those crispy fish. I felt so degraded and alone. Satisfied, the crowd dispersed.

My best friend Jessica, a fellow Army brat, saw me and rushed over. She asked me what was wrong. In halted words, I tried to explain what had happened. I was crying so hard that my words didn't come out correctly. I don't know how much she really understood, but as far as she was concerned, all she needed to know was who had made me cry.

"Do you want me to beat them up for you?"

I shook my head.

I was so sad that I couldn't enjoy what my mom had worked so hard to prepare. Remembering this incident still makes me sad - not because of the bullies, but because of the emotions it invokes concerning my mom and my relationship with her.

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I read this aloud in class. It was my first time volunteering to read, and I was scared. The emotions are still so real for me and it's so personal. My voice shook a bit, and I forgot to breathe as I often do when I'm nervous. Trying to squeeze out the last few words of a sentence when you don't have air left in your lungs is extremely difficult. My classmates and my teacher were supportive and gracious in their comments. They were very encouraging, and I am looking forward to my task for this week.