Plastic Rice

A warm, hearty bowl of rice made lovingly for the most important person in his life. The only catch? The rice is plastic.

It was a few days after she left. I had run out of the instant rice I always kept on hand for emergencies and was contemplating going out to eat when the pressure rice cooker caught my eye. It had been her prized possession, almost like a manifestation of her being in the form of a kitchen appliance. Without thinking, I made some rice in it. When I opened the lid, opaque steam rushed out in such a thick cloud that I couldn’t see a thing. I closed my eyes and drew the steam inside my body. Tranquility swept over me. I felt like I could die a happy man if I could just experience the hot steam of freshly made rice on my face every day.

A man working in the doll division of a plastic injection mold factory sits down to a perfect bowl of rice. He has planned and prepared every step meticulously, from buying the perfect stone pot and seasoning it to following the instructions for cooking rice with the utmost care and precision. He performs each act like a ritual ceremony, a show of his dedication and love for her. The woman who was his home, the woman who always greeted him after a hard day’s work with a warm meal.

As he cooks the plastic rice, he thinks back on the events of his life that have led him to this moment. He recalls a childhood trauma that robbed him of his sense of smell, his many years of struggling to make ends meet, and the woman who brought warmth and love into his life. As he reflects on not only the turns his life has taken but his own actions along the way, the true meaning of the perfect pot of plastic rice is slowly revealed.