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Elementary School
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Without knowing what babycorn was I asked my mom if we could find babycorn pizza. She didn't know what that was either. Every once in a while though I'd ask again for it again.
Babycorn pizza was Hassan's favorite food. We ate packed lunches in our corner of a table in the corner of the cafeteria far from the cool kids. I passed the group of cool white kids at the other end of the cafeteria on my way to this corner, watching them enjoy their hot lunches. I wished I had what they had rather than the Korean meal my mom packed.
Hassan ate red colored rice out of a plastic tupperware. His meal looked foreign. And disgusting. I couldn't understand how anybody could eat that day in day out. But compared to the fried, breaded meats, french fries, and cartons of chocolate milk served in disposable styrofoam trays, I knew my meal was closer to Hassan's.
I would complain, but my mom said we couldn't afford hot lunch. Instead she began packing me western styled lunches. PBJ sandwiches. Some baby carrot sticks. Most importantly, no more rice.
Because the cafeteria line grew long quick most kids eating hot lunch rushed over while those with cold, lunches could move at a more leisurely pace. I remember many days wishing I could make that same run. Instead I'd take out my cold, unexciting lunch pail from my locker and walk the long halls to the cafeteria where I would sit in the back corner of the cafeteria with Hassan and Karthik.
Elementary School
--------------------------
Without knowing what babycorn was I asked my mom if we could find babycorn pizza. She didn't know what that was either. Every once in a while though I'd ask again for it again.
Babycorn pizza was Hassan's favorite food. We ate packed lunches in our corner of a table in the corner of the cafeteria far from the cool kids. I passed the group of cool white kids at the other end of the cafeteria on my way to this corner, watching them enjoy their hot lunches. I wished I had what they had rather than the Korean meal my mom packed.
Hassan ate red colored rice out of a plastic tupperware. His meal looked foreign. And disgusting. I couldn't understand how anybody could eat that day in day out. But compared to the fried, breaded meats, french fries, and cartons of chocolate milk served in disposable styrofoam trays, I knew my meal was closer to Hassan's.
I would complain, but my mom said we couldn't afford hot lunch. Instead she began packing me western styled lunches. PBJ sandwiches. Some baby carrot sticks. Most importantly, no more rice.
Because the cafeteria line grew long quick most kids eating hot lunch rushed over while those with cold, lunches could move at a more leisurely pace. I remember many days wishing I could make that same run. Instead I'd take out my cold, unexciting lunch pail from my locker and walk the long halls to the cafeteria where I would sit in the back corner of the cafeteria with Hassan and Karthik.
