On how some things just go back to the way they were

At 2, pretending the spoon was a plane and my mouth was a cave, I ate everything that was spoon-fed to me by my parents.

At 15, irritated and adamant to lose all that baby fat, I was picky about anything that my parents cooked.

At 20, becoming gradually weary of the family’s restaurant food, I almost always ate out.

At 26, not wanting to disappoint mum on the rare occasions that I visit them, I eat everything that is put in front of me.

Some things just go back to the way they always were.

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