I have never been good with chopsticks. It is a fact that I have been painfully reminded of when the sushi that I have been attempting to shovel into my mouth conveniently ends up on my lap. It is strange to me that I didn’t even think about the difficulties of eating with chopsticks here in Viet Nam until my first meal. I had uneasily glanced down at the chopsticks and picked them up, watching as my other classmates didn’t even hesitate before digging in. My clumsy American hands gripped onto the twigs for dear life and attempted to spear and attack the food that was meant to be gracefully uplifted by a pair of lithe wooden utensils. When it came to rice on that day, the best I could hope for was that the whole bowl didn’t end up in my lap. After that day, my hands had to adapt fast because chopsticks were used to eat every single meal.
The next time that I came into trouble with the chopsticks was my first night eating dinner with my family. As we awkwardly sat around the dinner table (what is it, exactly, that you say to your new daughter/sister from America?), I watched them eat their food with a certain grace that I had not been using with my chopsticks. Each dip into the bowl, an elegant reach for the meat-it all became a dance around me as I sat holding my chopsticks for dear life, petrified that if I were to attempt an act of consumption it would be offensive to the grace around me. Eventually, I chanced a piece of a spring roll and was overjoyed that it didn’t end up in my lap. I happily continued my quest for a full belly, grabbing spring roll after spring roll until I noticed that my sister was laughing at me. She corrected my hold on the chopsticks, and I was off again, attempting to eat my meal unnoticed by my family. I got a few more chuckles from my host parents and several stares from my brother, but otherwise my chopstick usage was not mentioned.
Weeks went by, and I gradually am growing accustomed to using the new utensils. I have been able to eat slippery fish, rice, pho—basically anything that has been put onto my plate. There are still certain mishaps that happen, and every night when the table is cleared, my place is still the messiest, but my family doesn’t point out my clumsiness anymore, so I take that as a good sign. I hope to someday gain the grace that my family has with eating their food, but right now, I am content with having my food make it to my mouth.
No comments:
Post a Comment