January 22, 2012

My dearest,

We brave the crowds. Last minute shopping for Chinese New Year. An entire box of premium mandarin oranges. Rows of assorted canned mollusc flesh – limpets, clams and abalone. I consider a multi-coloured package of ready-to-go yee sang but you shake your head. Fresh only, you say. I nod in agreement though secretly I wonder how fresh could dried strands dyed in unearthly colours be, even if they serve them on the spot at restaurants. I don’t say this, naturally, armed with a healthy dose of survival instinct. You leave me to decide on the dried mushrooms. They all look the same to me. I pick the one with the least garish packaging, one for you and one for my family. Mom will soak the ones I get her the night before; I imagine you doing the same. While Mom prepares our reunion dinner and I wait with my nephew and nieces in the living room, I shall wonder about how you are preparing yours. You tell me you will attempt some kind of mushroom-abalone-chicken soup. I tell you I am sure it will be brilliant. I tell you it will be so yummy I would regret on missing out. We both know I am already.

Yours, ever and always.