Jasmine rice…
Jasmine Rice I have a gift and curse of having a vivid memory of my a life that spans back to when I was just two years old. Between 2 & 7 years of age I occasionally heard a womans voice in the room when there was a gathering of what would be known as family time. I remember understanding Tagalog and English and finding warmth in a well-spoken woman who appeared to be the focus of the room when we were at the family gatherings. This voice would occasionally call out sharply… Especially when she would call the name NICHOLAS! she would say things without shouting but an exclamation was never necessary. If you heard your name from Auntie Marys mouth you listened up and needed to acknowledge and help if needed or knock off whatever you were doing… (a strong memory I have that, my cousin Nicholas would put his hands and legs on opposing walls in the hallway and climb up to the ceiling of the hallway way overhead and his distinctive giggle would give away that he was up to something and by my account about 8 Up above the ground.) The smell of jasmine rice and the chatter about bingo, mahjong, and complex gossip that always seemed to be absolute truths while rolling lumpia, and preparing BIKO. The adobo, pancit, and sinigang… were ready to be served and when it was time to eat, we all ate as a family. I would hear my name…
