Here I am, cooking in my apartment’s kitchen. My heart beats joyfully with the rhythm of stirring. My boyfriend slurps the rib soup to check if it’s ready. Wait, why did you start eating?
It’s New Year’s Eve.
Here we are, sitting at a round table. The steam of sticky rice ribs billows from the dish. I hear someone’s stomach rumbling. Oops, it’s mine.
We have no idea what is behind the facade of peace.