wonton

Little dumplings. Tasty morsels. I cooked mince pork and chives wonton a few nights ago. The Hong Kong style egg noodles from Harris Farm was pretty good too. Chicken broth unabashedly aided and abetted by chemical laden powdery stuff from a tin. Nostalgia evening, it seems. I loved Hong Kong, it will always have a special place in my journey through space and time. And ‘wonton’ – dumplings – contain more than just their physical material fillings.

Enwrapped. Enclosed. My Angel buried inside soft sheets. Precious. Sensorially delightful. I wonder, does she like my bed because of my scent, or the softness of the sheets? I shall sew her a soft comfy quilt, and we shall see…

Are we merely accidents, or accidents waiting to happen? I’d like to believe the latter, it was as if some purposeful directed accident brought is together.

Often, I wish I could give Lucy a better life, not this living from hand to mouth, teetering on the edge, listening with anxious pounding heartbeat to the howling silence of paucity, struggling to give thanks for abundance. I know, Lucy does not hold this against me, but the struggle is palpable and palpitating loudly…

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