Our Bali cooking class started with a tour of the Ubud country side, so we could see for ourselves where our food came from. It was harvest season, and farmers were busy cutting down the ripened rice stalks in the field. This lovely lady saw me point the camera at her, and flashed the brightest smile while giving me a thumbs up.
One of the few Chinese poems I can still recite is one by a Tang dynasty official, who invokes compassion for peasants with this simple yet evocative description (pardon the rough translation): Sweat drips into the ground underneath the seedling as he toils under the midday sun. Did you know that every grain of rice on your plate comes from the hard earned labor of another?
《悯农》 “锄禾日当午,汗滴禾下土。谁知盘中餐,粒粒皆辛苦。” – 李绅
America leads the world in terms of food waste, throwing away 60 billion tons of produce (50% of total) every year. My mom works as a deli clerk, and at home, she has always been extremely frugal when it comes food. I can just imagine how difficult it was for her to follow the strict regulations at work to throw away perfectly good food just because it was a day old. I grew up in China during an age when we still used food vouchers to get necessities. Perhaps due to the hard ingrained teachings of my Communist education, I never wasted food as a child, even after moving to the US. This only changed after college, when I made the mental calculation between stuffing myself to not waste food, and the agonizing diets and workouts I would have to endure later to shed those calories.
Nothing highlights privilege more glaringly than traveling to third world countries where people still led simple yet difficult lives. I always felt a tinge of guilt when I go to these places, spending a small amount of money (to me) for almost a luxurious lifestyle. This tour, for example, was the cost of perhaps a single meal back home, and I wonder what the people thought when they saw us walking around taking photos of them because we’ve never seen people work, oohing and ahhing at ingredients because we are used to having food prepared for us. When I saw the lady smile at me, I felt a sudden rush of embarrassment and relief. Embarrassment for getting caught, and relief since she did not seem to mind my ignorance and curiosity.
The other revelation you’ll find when you start traveling, is that money really doesn’t determine one’s happiness. I’ve met plenty of people who may not have the same luxuries or choices in life, but they still have dreams and passions, and find joy everyday in their pursuit of those goals. As grateful as I am of all the opportunities I’ve been given, I sometimes do find myself envious of those who lead simpler lives and have fewer paths to choose from. Perhaps less choices means less regrets, and less time pondering about what ifs. Then again, to regret, and to ponder, is also a choice to be made.
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