Every month, I routinely return to my hometown to visit my relatives. Over the past few years, a routine has gradually formed. Every time I return home, my mother puts her mind on cooking. She cooks some of my favorite food, and I eat to my heart’s content, and I take care of the food while I take care of it, which is our way of pleasing each other.
In comparison, it is too easy and comfortable for me as a son to please my mother. Even if I decide to decide on the other party, I still feel ashamed. In order to make up for my guilty conscience, whenever she was busy in the kitchen, I would rush to the boiler and look around, thinking that even if I couldn’t help, I could at least talk to her more. But I’m obviously getting in the way of her cooking more often?
I also have the habit of cooking. Things in the kitchen seem to be a very rare common topic between me and my mother, from purchasing to cooking, from using the refrigerator to organizing and storing kitchen utensils, from how to wash vegetables to how to prepare ingredients… I think, I especially trust the word “friendship” Every corresponding relationship that is a prerequisite includes the friendship between people and people, and the friendship between people and animals and plants, as well as the friendship between people and things, and people and things.
Without verbal confirmation, I know that my mother, like me, also faces food and cooking with the premise of “friendship”. I am also convinced that this homogeneity is the basis of my friendship with my mother.