Thank goodness for modern technology and automated machines, one of few instances that I have preference of communicating with a monotonous voice-recording than face actual, human interaction. To be fair, one only has so much capacity to tolerate the stare, accompanied by the pitying question of asking twice whether company is to come. As if asking me twice would suddenly make appear someone to save me from my singularity, but who said I needed saving?
The thought of having to eat with disposable, wooden chopsticks is not always pleasant: an indication of greasy fast food and possibly, splinters. To many, this same list may have included the honourable mention of breaking the utensil unevenly, but to me, it’s something to be celebrated.
When I was younger, my sisters taught me a game. With no official name, neither knowledge of its origin, I still played along. Game isn’t exactly fitting of a word; it was more of a ritual. If the Japanese had the ritual of saying いただきます before every meal, I had mine own. That is, in the presence of disposable, wooden chopsticks. So, here’s how it works: