Pure Leaf

Pure Leaf
Journal 1

The light went off as breeze secretly brushed through the silver window. Magic simmered in a pottery vase hidden in the corner. Suddenly a sharp sound caved into the membranes of my eardrums, echoing a familiar yet creepy memory from the past.
“Who has stolen my yellow tart, not cheese?” said I. I hated cheese- the pungent smell repulsed me when elders offered what they thought as a great gift. I was very little, not more than six years old, living in a white village surrounded by loquat trees.

The yearly harvest festival held at the fall of blue moon in the autumn was one of the biggest events in our hometown. My grandparents would decorate the house with bamboo leaves freshly picked from the field. Red couplets with auspicious phrases were posted on both sides of the gate; and a new loofah sprout was planted in the front yard, signaling the next year’s good fortune and health.

My parents were busy dealing with our produce business as it was the harvest season: peanuts were ready to be dug out of the soil, millets were golden brown, taros were as big as a grown man’s foot, and other green vegetables were showing off their shining colours in the sun. “Yes, this is my favourite time of the year!” shouted my cousin and I at the top of our lungs.

“Ai-yah, how many times have I told you two to stay away from the stove? It’s dangerous to run around while I am preparing rice cake!” snorted impatiently my grandmother. But Jin-Lin and I loved to watch grandma busying herself in the kitchen. All the utensils and ingredients for making our harvest feast had special power over us, not because we knew we would have lots of delicious food but because there was a genuine and unique tradition followed by the big yearly dinner that night…