There is true love in the bowl

 　　I married an unromantic husband, and life was like a large, still water tank under the eaves of my old home—so quiet you could see the sky.

　　One day at work, my colleague Ling had a bouquet of vibrant red roses on her desk. She proudly told me it was a birthday gift from her husband. Envious, I decided to try and soften the blow with something from my own life. "It's just a bouquet of flowers, that's easy," my husband said. His quick understanding surprised me; he was teachable, and my previous parenting methods had clearly been ineffective.

　　"I have a surprise for you today," he said early on my birthday. He hadn't forgotten my birthday—a huge improvement! After work, I rushed home, imagining the fragrant roses on the table, and felt a slight intoxication. I opened the door and glanced around, but there was nothing particularly eye-catching; only the aroma of cooking wafted out. "Come, come, I cooked your favorite salt and pepper prawns. This is much better than roses." Alas, my gentle persuasion failed completely in front of this blockhead, leaving me speechless with anger.

　　"What happened?" My father, seeing my somber face, asked with concern from the living room. When he learned the reason, he burst into laughter and said, "The love between husband and wife is contained in a bowl. Salt and pepper shrimp, very good!" Seeing that I didn't take it seriously, my father said, "Your mother and I have lived together for 50 years. There was no romance, but there were three meals a day. Whether it was in times of scarcity or when I was down on my luck, when I came home, there was always a bowl filled with heartwarming love, which supported me through those difficult years. That is the most real and touching love!"

　　My father told me that in the 1960s, when my mother gave birth to my sister, she finally managed to buy 20 eggs. My mother, who was weak, couldn't bear to eat them herself, but afraid that her children would be envious, she buried the soft-boiled eggs in her food for them. My father said emotionally, "At that time, I only had one thought in my mind, which was to be good to your mother for the rest of my life!"

　　After hearing my father's words, I fell into deep thought. Since marrying my husband, I've always enjoyed his love, which I've poured into my life. But like children raised under their mother's constant care, they may not truly understand happiness. I hadn't always appreciated the countless ways my husband patiently prepared meals for me each day—that was the most genuine, simple, and enduring form of love! Giving roses is love, a vibrant and eye-catching Western painting; grilling salt and pepper prawns is also love, a tranquil and elegant Chinese painting that allows the soul to rest.

　　Lin Yutang famously said, "To love someone, start from their stomach." Taiwanese writer Zhang Xiaofeng wrote in her essay "A Woman's View of Love," "To love someone is to constantly think, should we have beef tongue or pork tongue for dinner? Should we buy cabbage or bok choy?" Pouring love into a bowl—real, simple, yet deeply moving—is another realm of love. In ordinary families, simple meals slowly nourish ordinary years, subtle yet warm, enduring and everlasting.

　　It was only then that I suddenly realized that what I truly longed for was nothing more than this ordinary life and ordinary emotions.