32 When I went to University and did Philosophy, the logic of this underwent severe examination. Did some, say, scientists in China, gather up two separate groups of women as a test case for this hypothesis? Did they force one group to finish their plates of rice clean? And the other, not? Did they then observe and track the progress of both groups through life till marriage and deduce conclusively, based upon empirical findings, that girls who did not finish their rice would marry pock-marked husbands? Why did this rule never apply to men? Or did it? 33 I hate that bowl of rice. I hate what that bowl of rice means. 34 I remember my grandmother’s favorite rice-bowl, the one from which each noonday and evening she would lift to her face and shovel the white rice into her open mouth. It was I t creamy white bowl with a swirl of blue outside. It was grandmother’ s special rice-bowl, one with which she associated fond memories, memories which she did not share with any of us. I remember gingerly handling it when we held it over the basin of soapy water. My older sister would carefully rinse it. wipe it dry and put it into the great wooden cupboard, only to take it out again, at the next mealtime, to scoop the soft white grains gently into the bowl. 35 It was an accident! We didn't mean for it to break, Grandmother's precious bowl. It was an accident, the bowl slipped! We clutched desperately, our fingers barely missing the rim and finding only empty air The silence in the kitchen reverberated with the crash as the bowl
shattered into a thousand pieces. We looked shame faced at each other, before Grandmother came bursting in.
36 We left the house that day. Pa, Ma, my sisters and my brother. In silence, we gathered up our belongings and stepped through the old gate of the family home without a backward glance. I remember the last word my grandmother said, a word which I had heard her mutter under breath for so long: fan-thong.
37 In Cantonese, a fan-thong or vessel for rice is used as an epithet . It implies that a person than a receptacle of rice, that all the rice that has been consumed is wasted and therefore such a person is useless. 38 We never saw my grandmother after that, not even when she passed away. //
39 So I married Brian Worth, an Englishman whose idea of great cuisine was bangers and beans and whose face was as smooth as a baby's bottom, though he swore he had chronic acne during his teenage years. Aside from his wit, his love for the same kind of music and writers drew us closer, making us more than good friends. When he proposed, I thought, what a relief, I can handle bangers and beans and the occasional steak and potatoes. Heck, I could even do a turkey at Christmas, complete with cranberry sauce and pudding. I won't have to serve his rice every day, seven days a week, every week of the year. 40 There was rice sprinkled at our wedding, instead of confetti. As we
ran down the aisle, the rice was scattered like rain. Afterwards, like monkeys, Brian and I picked the rice from each other' s hair. The sprinkling of rice was symbolic of fertility, just as in Singapore they had forced us to drive around with a pair of chickens, one male and one female. In the heat, one poor chicken expired, leaving the other one alone to weather the storms of marital pomp and ceremony. This, I hoped, was not a bad omen.
41 “You are marrying a kwei-lo ! Why do you want to bring more chap-cheng kia? into the world?” Pa snorted in disgust.
42 “Pa, Brian is not a kwei-lo. Brian is Brian. I’m not marrying a race. I am marrying a man.”
43 “I tell you, they are all the same. Your Pa has seen how they always behave, so smelly and dirty, always getting drunk. You think they are getting serious with you. So many Chinese girls have been fooled. They are all alike, these kwei-los. All the same.
44 “And I tell you, your Pa drives the school bus around for so many years, I know the chap-cheng kia are the worst. All like monkeys,climbing here and there and always fighting. never respect their parents. Your children will be exactly the same.''
45 “Pa, I think you're wrong. Brian respects you and he respects Ma. Look, he is always helpful and kind to Ma. He is not a tourist or a sailor and even if he were, not all sailors or tourists are the same.
46 “Pa, he cares about me. You dislike him because of the color of his skin but Pa, underneath we are all the same. I am marrying a man and not a race. He loves me and he will look after me and he doesn't treat me as if I was an inferior. Nothing you say will change my mind about marrying him.”
47 ''Do what you like. Your Pa has noticing more to say. I am an old man. I have eaten more salt than you have eaten rice. You wait and see?”
48 Fan-thong. My father called me fan-thong and said he regretted the day I was born.
49 Italy was wonderful. We dined on sun kissed green terrace, on the best pastas, cheeses and wines. Along old cobbled streets, we wandered, the strong smell of spiced breads baking. We picnicked in the old squares, the misty spray from the ancient fountains rising up to refresh us. As the sun went down on the city, we sat on open rooftops and drank wine from each other' s lips.
50 “Darling...?” I murmured into his ear.
51 “Hmm?what?”His strong suntanned arms snaked around me. The dull light of a dying day filtered through the drawn curtains, casting dim shadows around the bedroom of our new flat. 52 “What would you like for our first meal home?”
53 “ I’d like you for dinner.” His teeth sank playfully into my shoulder. 54 “Ouch, stop it, Brian, that's ticklish ...Stop, don't biter!” I squealed in protest. “Slop, I'm serious...”
55 He sobered and looked into my eyes. “Well, after that long flight and that nap, I am hungry?He paused. “Actually, darling, I miss your mum’s cooking. It would really be nice if you learn to cook like she did. Do you think you could rustle up one or two Chinese dishes... and a bowl of rice? Please?”//
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