I made wontons this morning. I was, actually, hungry for dumplings. However, it would take more time/work to make dumplings since I prefer homemade wrappers. Store-bought wonton wrappers, on the other hand, taste all right for me.
When I was in high school, a lady we knew started a wontons stand near our house. She was well educated and had a good job, but her husband owed a lot of money (gambling? I don’t remember), so she was selling wontons at night trying to pay off the debt.
I felt heartbroken for her. She was a nice, soft spoken lady. She wasn’t supposed to stand on the street selling wontons at night, I thought. For months, I avoided walking by the wonton stand; I didn’t want her to see how sorry I felt for her.
One night, a friend asked me if I would go eat wontons with him. Since there were two of us, I figured it would be easy for me to hide my feelings, so I said yes. After all, I was a little curious how tasty those wontons were.
While waiting for our food, we watched her two daughters making wontons. They use a bamboo stick applied a thin layer of pork fillings on each wrapper and then folded it to a wonton. When I finally bite into one, I could only taste the wrapper.
After we paid the money, when we were far away from the stand, my friend said, “There wasn’t any meat in those wontons!” I agreed. We were not happy; we said we would never go back again. And we didn’t.
I have forgotten this incident until today. Thinking back, I realize how “wrong” I was back then. If I can go back to that time of my life… instead of feeling sorry for her, I would admire her courage for getting out of her comfort zone, selling wontons on the street to save her family; instead of focusing on my unsatisfied stomach, I would focus on finding something to do to help.
It’s interesting how we change the way we think. Sometime, I wish I could turn the clock back.
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