Fried Rice

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Today, I aided my mother in making lunch, which is a rare occurrence since I’m often busy with my own activities such as homework and practicing piano.

Despite the simplicity of the recipe, I had a difficult time mimicking what my mother demonstrated to be an efficient way to assemble the ingredients. I continuously mixed the ingredients in the frying pan sloppily, causing bits of the food to fall outside of the cooking tool.

I’d look at my mother and expect to see looks of disappointment and sadness, but my eyes were met with smiles of encouragement and endearment. This calmed my nerves, and I successfully completed the aromatic dish, which my family soon enjoyed wholeheartedly.

This short yet meaningful incident opened my eyes to the hard work my mother endures every day. Cooking may seem like an easy task, but the many hazards included in this duty disproves that perspective.

As my appreciation for my mother grew in those 45 minutes of cooking, I also gradually began to overcome my fear of working with fire. I ultimately found delight in using the dangerous, crackling flames to my advantage.

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll help my mother with cooking dinner.

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