Leah McKay

Yet his fried rice also tastes like home, outer layers hiding a deceptive simplicity at the center. Just like a person, fried rice has many sides, as many as the grains that make it up. My mother’s fried rice exudes a simpler aroma, less overpowering, more nuanced. The flavor is simple, with a small taste of the sea, for her homeland. The flavor is closer to the original rice, less exotic, more down-to-earth, seeking not to impress, but to capture the basis of the ingredients and use them to tell the story.

Recently I have been thinking about what kind of fried rice I will make. Perhaps it would be an amalgamation of everything I have known and loved. Even so, I think that I will add a little something different. Maybe a little spice, some curry powder, the chili peppers vibrant, but not scorching my tongue. I want to add something of all the places I’ve traveled to, but leave a little room for my origins, and my future. The best of Houston, the blend of sizzling oil and seafood. The delicate gardens of Suzhou, a backdrop to the smell of the air, breakfast cooking in one thousand streetside stalls. And to tie all the flavors together, a touch of the earthy, simple flavor of Indiana that I’ve slowly warmed to over the past five years. Fried rice has grown up with me, and it will continue to change throughout my lifetime. The best part is that for each day, there is a new bowl and a new journey to a different place.

I smile as my chopsticks dig into another steaming bowl of fried rice, golden rich, soothing aroma catching at my nostrils and gently stimulating my appetite. I feel myself dissolving, melding with the taste into the fried rice, reflected in the oil droplets on every single grain. My tastes have changed, yet the fried rice has changed too, shifting its versatile boundaries to match mine. I wait for a moment in anticipation, pausing before turning the pages on this new adventure, this time completely fused into my own creation. I can catch a touch of everything I added, wrapped up in the classic flavors of soy sauce, jasmine rice, and oil. I sigh in pleasure inside as the first bite rests on my tongue for a moment, blending, before disappearing.

A Gift and a Curse

Leah McKay

In some ways, having siblings are the easiest and hardest relationships to maintain. On the one hand, you are bound by blood to them, they will always be around, and you have such a strong connection through this that your friendship isn’t even a question. On the other hand, you live with them, and you go through life with them. Together, you go through the good, the bad, and the ugly, and you will always have to reconcile after a fight or negotiate your way through a disagreement because it is expected of you. Having siblings is a curse for some, and a gift for others. For me, it is a bit of both, but the connections I have with my siblings are different than most, and the place that I share with them is most important of all. I was three years old when my brother was born, and six years old when my sister followed. Being the oldest was never hard for me, but it did cause me to disconnect from my siblings in some ways. When I was in elementary school, my mom worked night shifts at a busy hospital. Caring for my siblings and keeping them quiet as my mom caught up on her sleep became my main priority, and I spent most of my afternoons doing just that. As I got older, they stopped needing as much help, but my transition to middle school meant that my brother and sister had more time together and my brother became the kind of figure to Hailee (my sister) that I used to be. I also had less free time, secluding myself in my room to do homework while listening to the neighborhood kids play nearby. Of course, I still had my own connection to both of them. Rafael (my brother) and I were distinguished by being the oldest and bonded over that, complaining about homework to one another and dividing up the harder responsibilities. Hailee and I were the only girls and loved to talk about meaningless things together, snuggling under her My Little Pony bed sheets and rambling on about life. It was harder to make time for family as I got older and my schedule filled up faster. I would find myself catching glimpses of them as I dashed in and out of the house, headed for extracurriculars, social events, or school. My dad worked, my mom organized, my siblings played. Right before middle school started, my dad accepted an offer for a new job that he loved but required a lot more work from him. While the stolen moments of family time were nice, they became fewer and far between. Even though I feel disconnected from my family at times, there are still moments that make me think about how strong our bonds are.

I’m lounging on my bed doing homework when a knock sounds at my

door. It slowly creaks open, and my little sister’s large, hazel eyes peer at me in my room through the crack of the door. My room is small and packed to the brim, but neatly organized. On the far wall is an understated mirror and plain bed, seemingly unoccupied. On the far wall, there is a window that lets in the late afternoon sun, alive with the colors of the changing leaves, surrounded by shelves of bright books and dark bins.

“Can I come in?” Hailee tentatively asks.

“Sure,” I reply, scooching over on my bed and watching as she flops down beside me, the light playing across her freckled face. I note with concern that her eyes are red and puffy, and her small lips are parted as she seems to be breathing funny. “What happened? You look like you’ve been crying.” I question her.

“Emma and May started playing with each other at recess, and when I went over to play with them too, they said I couldn’t and they wanted to play by themselves,” Hailee sobs. I realize that I will have to tread carefully, as Hailee is sensitive to anything whenever she cries.

“I’m really sorry,” I start hesitantly. “Did you go and play with someone else?”

“Yeah, I went and played with Zoe and Katie afterward but I can’t believe that my friends just ignored me like that.” Hailee sniffs.

“Sometimes people do things without thinking of how it makes others feel. I’m sure that Emma and May weren’t trying to hurt you on purpose, and if they are, you have so many other great-”

A knock sounds at the door again. I jump and watch the door crack open as my brother pokes his head in, waggling his eyebrows as he does so. His dark hair is mussed up in tufts on the back of his head, and he wears his shirt backward, probably unwittingly. I roll my eyes, knowing that Rafael is a huge gossip and is half here for the story. He lets himself in and plops down on my window seat, assessing the situation, noting Hailee’s swelling eyes and my furrowed eyebrows.

A twinkle in his eye appears and he says “Did you hear that Mom got a new brand of fruit snacks from the store? I’ll give you some if you cheer up and play with me.” Hailee perks up, her 6-year-old mind distracted almost instantly by this new thought. Sighing, knowing that another hour will soon be wasted, I grab a fruit snack from Hailee, and after more food has been distributed, she settles down and stops crying.