I don't eat breakfast. It is not because I am on a diet. In fact, I eat fairly A LOT during the day. For me, what to have for the breakfast is the most difficult decision in a day. I would stand in front of my refrigerator for 10 minutes; searching up and down the shelves, trying to find anything that resemble anything home.
I am an adventurous eater. I try international cuisines and exotic dishes. I am not a picky eater. However, in the morning, I become the most difficult person to deal with. Cereals and milk? I don't like milk. Toast and jam. Boring. Bacon and eggs. Too greasy. There is nothing that agrees with my precious stomach in the morning. Or maybe it is my precious memory of home that is calling for attention; wanting that familiarity of smell and taste of food that awoke me when I still lived at home, with my family.
Fried bread stick. Chinese omelet. Soybean milk. I love them especially in a cool morning when I walked with mom to that street stand where we got our breakfast for years. I liked to dip the fried break stick into the hot soybean milk and felt that crunchiness with sweet soybean dripping out from my mouth.
Somehow I am not sure whether I am missing the food or I am missing home.
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