Nights In China

Often when I’m cooking dinner, I think about China. I think about slipping off my shoes at the door and walking through my big dark living room with a bag full of vegetables I can’t seem to find on this side of the planet: chinese eggplant, khan choy, fresh taro, flowering garlic chives. I remember putting music on in the dining room, listening to my knife striking the cutting board, the feeling of the sticky rice between my hands as I washed it, the way a hot pepper split under the tip of the blade as I gutted it of its seeds, the smell of peanut oil on the wok and the sound of the vegetables as they dropped into it. I think about these nights, alone in my Chinese kitchen, and realize that I was completely happy, in that I felt free, in that I, for the first time, felt that my life was entirely my own.

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About A B

"There is all this untouched beauty, the light, the dark, both running through me." -Over The Rhine
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