favourite dishes for chang’e

In one version of the Chinese myth “Chang’e and Hou Yi,” Hou Yi was a brilliant archer married to Chang’e. There used to be 10 suns smoldering Earth, and because Hou Yi shot down 9 of them, he was awarded the elixir of immortality by the Queen Mother of West Heaven. He stowed the elixir in a box, not bearing to drink it and thus parting with his beloved wife. However, a curious Chang’e opened the box and drank the elixir. She floated to the moon, forever parting from her husband and becoming the Goddess of the Moon. 

In the far future, humans have the choice to upload their consciousness onto “heaven” (a super computer on the moon) in order to live a stimulated life of eternal pleasure.

zhá jiàng miàn / simmering kitchen, us dicing vegetables and throwing them at each other for fun. remember the time we lost our knife, and you tried cutting carrots with a fork? stupid, when i snorted at you, you whacked me with that carrot, and our laughter sliced through the air. thoughts of you have fermented like soybean paste, but i still smear myself with its smell.

pídàn shòu ròu zhōu / century eggs hide in congee / their snowflaked lines stretching and / breaking like human lifespans. / when i stopped cooking / you bit back / tears and fed me spoon by spoon. i promised you / my century only for you / to insist on forever. / forever /  like a starving wish / upon a moon, like coughing up pennies / to brew immortality, like working / working / until the clock cracks and / our stove breaks / and i miss you / and there is light / “surprise! got us / two tickets to heaven.” / “what the hell?”

málàtàng / your words were like spice: hot and numbing the way they blistered my skin, burned my eyes like smoking oil. and we stewed in red broth, anger defleshing us until we were all bones: listen, heaven will grant us (a double-suicide, you’re insane to want) eternal happiness (a fleshless existence) where you can eat delicious food forever! (where we’ve long stopped breathing) and i got a ticket too, so i can live with you again (and you will never see me again, because) you have to understand, i can’t bear to see you die (you prefer a fake) why can’t we just both choose to be happy? (happier and healthier. you don’t love me: you can’t hold my hand) it’s because i love you too much that (as I lie here. you want escape) every moment is unbearable.

we argued to a boil so many times that one night, you chose to evaporate into electricity, leaving behind nothing but a note.

shēng jiān bāo / you sizzled yourself away: your slender piano fingers that brushed my hair, held my hand. your clairvoyant eyes that picked up every smile and frown of mine. remember how we could never help ourselves while frying dumplings? how the delicious smell always compelled us to taste test right out of the saucer. and we would always burn our tongues but agree it was worth it anyways. now you are over the m[]on, unable to taste real f[]od, and i am left starving for your presenc[]. your electr[]cal presence, like a lightning strik[] to my h[]art, like i always  sto[]pp[]d breat[][][][]   next t[] y[]u. and even now i h[]ld my br[]ath at [     ]   [     ] at the linger[]ng no[] [ ] s e a fry[]ng [       ] [       ]wh[]n [       ] t[      ]  o[][]

mápó dòufu/i still search for you in every swirl on the wall, every window-lit reflection of the moon. i request for mapo doufu so i can pretend every bite is one we’ve made together. but your last words were “if our happiness is short-term, i’ll rather not have it at all.” happiness, like 

sweetness dissolving on your tongue, like the small 

pain when i throw a stupid carrot at your head. all subtly here 

one moment and gone the next. 

xīhóngshì chǎo jīdàn / and yet if i could, i would still eat every dish on this menu with you again.