What is the ultimate comfort food for me? A piping hot bowl of Asian ramen.
I have to make a distinction between Asian (namely Taiwanese, Japanese, or Korean) ramen vs. Western or Israeli. The former is an addictive cocktail of dried vegetables, real oil, and MSG while the latter is just not even worth chewing. A lot of my American friends don't understand the warmth and childlike joy I have in the prospect of a savory slurp. If you don't get it, it can't be explained.
So, very thankfully, the student I tutor for English with incredible thoughtfulness brought back several packs of Shin ramen from Korea. She had been away for about a month, visiting family, and shares my pain of having no way of buying real ramen here. And I've been trying to make them last, but we have a war right now, and seriously I try my best not to eat a pack a day. But sometimes knowing that I'll get to have 20 minutes of not thinking about the dead and dying, immediate friends being called up, immediate friends with children and pregnant wives--knowing I'll get to take a break from real life and just enjoy a bowl of noodles like all the times during typhoon blackouts as a child, helps.
On July 15, I fasted in solidarity with the Muslims and Jews who were fasting for notable days in their religion but who're dedicating their fast towards peace and breaking bread together at sundown. It was the first, or perhaps only the second, time that I actually really stuck by a fast from the night before to sundown the next day without, say, swigging just a little bit of juice at least. As I counted down the hours to when I got to eat, it really hit me how everyone needs to hunger for peace the way I hungered for food. How many other people thought about this as we drew close to the end of the fast? To long for that something to fill us with strength again, fill our hollowness. Am I just paying lip service when I say I want peace too? Does wanting--longing for peace amount to real attainment?
Abba God, what are You doing right now?
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