Necessity or luxury
Titugri Habib
Professor Bleyle
English 1101
31 August 2026
Necessity or luxury.
My classmates were in line for the food served by the school, and they always seemed to enjoy it. However, I was an exception in that I enjoyed eating my home-cooked meals. A reason why I enjoyed home-cooked meals was that my mother actually puts effort into the food she makes, and she wants the best of the best. I often ate rice balls three times a week, and I know it was quite a bit, but the mix taste of plain rice and tomatoes with sweet plantain was a recipe for a masterpiece. The piquant smell of the sweet plantains added a natural comfort before the food entered my mouth. It was May 23rd, 2017,on a Tuesday afternoon in seventh grade. I sat down with my car's 1 movie lunchbox, and I unzipped it, and I recalled that my mom made some rice balls with sauce, and I was super excited because that was my favorite food. I was ready to chow down immediately. My mom’s cooking was more than just something I ate for lunch. It was something that I grew up with. It felt like a taste of home.
As I opened my lunchbox, a boy was sitting next to me with his elbows pressed against the marble gray table. He sat with shoulders hunched forward to protect his half-eaten turkey sandwich, immediately pinched his nose, and shouted, “Ew, disgusting.” I wondered who he said that towards, and it turned out that everyone that was sitting at that table was all staring in my direction and looking at my lunchbox. Some kids began whispering and covering their nostrils while others began laughing. I remember looking around myself and feeling like the food I was so proud of had all of a sudden become something that I needed to hide. My face was very flushed, and at that moment I felt embarrassed and confused all at the same time, and I wished the ground would swallow me up whole and never spit me out. I felt so confused at that time because I had never thought that the food I brought every day was as disgusting as before.
When the school day ended that afternoon, I left the school premises and immediately sprinted to the school bus with my lunch box in hand, nervous to go home. I knew that my mom would most likely ask about lunch, and I was afraid of hurting her feelings. The bus ride felt like every traffic light needed to turn red and delay my return. I arrived home and immediately opened the door and immediately flung the lunchbox onto the floor with my head lowered onto the floor in defeat. My mom in the living room was watching her daily “my six thousand pound life “show,” she would never miss that show even if she needed to work. Mom turned her head to the sound of the metal clanging onto the floor and noticed my head pointed towards the floor. She got off the couch and walked over to me “what’s wrong? Did your food drop?” as she picked up the lunchbox. “No, I just don't like the food anymore.” My mom made an expression of discontent on her face. She looked puzzled and perplexed. I complained to her about how my day went. “Some kids were laughing at my face, and they said my food was disgusting.” My mom looked at me with a confused expression, “well, why were they laughing at you? What happened? I tilted my head toward the concrete floor and began explaining how embarrassing it was that I was the only one who sat at the table where all the kids were eating the school food while the same kids said I ate smelly home food. My mom paused for a moment before asking, “Well, why do you care now?” I stayed completely quiet because I did not know exactly how to explain it. I felt that I could never explain it to her completely because we had two different understandings and I felt guilty for telling her that her food was smelly. However, I felt that my mom would think that I am embarrassed because I let it happen and because of my age. Maybe I care now because I never felt so embarrassed about something that seemed so normal to me. I realized that the food that had made me comfortable my entire life made me feel something entirely different.
From that point forward, I began eating the school food instead. Mondays and Tuesdays, we were served pizza, and Wednesday through Friday, we were served burgers and hot dogs. At first I thought changing my lunch would make everything easier, as I would no longer have to worry about people staring at my food and clenching their nostrils. And to my surprise, eating lunch food did indeed work, as kids would stop giving me looks, and they were much friendlier than what I originally thought. But not all the kids had the same response as the kids who I considered my friends began to drift away from me because I was now seen as the smelly food kid. They began sitting further away from me; and would constantly avoid pairing up with me during recess. I felt completely lonely. However, I also discovered new friends who were not afraid of walking next to me, they would take time to help on assignments, and would partner up with me in gym class. In English class, I struggled a lot on an assignment and one of my new friends sat beside me and explained the assignment step by step. They really made me feel less lonely because they were patient with me and didn't make fun of me.
I realized that as I ate the food the school served, it was super bland compared to my mom’s flavorful cooking. The food didn't have the sweet taste of the plantains and the piquant smell of the rice balls. As I ate, I imagined how my day would have been if I hadn't changed my food. During that thinking period is when I realized that I changed what I ate because of my emotions and the critiques from the kids and not because I suddenly disliked my own food.
I came home the next week on Tuesday, and I immediately ran to my mom without my usual lunchbox in hand, feeling so guilty that I blamed her for what she didn't realize wasn't close to her fault and apologized. “I’m so sorry for what I said about your food; I won't ever talk about it like you were the one who planned on the kids laughing at me. “She paused for a second, and then a slight smile crossed her face, and she then laughed. She spoke to me about how important it is to be myself because no matter what I do in life, even if I am an adult, I will always be judged for being different. I understood why the kids saw me as different; however, what I could not understand was why being different was being seen as bad to people no matter the age. “it’s because being different as ‘titugri”…is being you. People are afraid of what they don’t fully know, and you recognize that is what helps.”
Looking back, that experience taught me how much our emotions can affect the things we do and why it is important to control them and think before we act. The fear of being judged can halt the progress that we try to make naturally when we grow up. Being judged changed our beliefs and our reasons, and I learned that it can affect the way we see our culture and the things we grew up with. I was the prime example of this as I tried to hide my cultural food at school because I was afraid that other kids were thinking that it was weird. This made me feel disconnected from my culture. I realized that culture should be something people should feel proud of and that being embarrassed for being different does not mean there is something wrong with me that I have to change. My food was not disgusting; there was nothing wrong with bringing it to school. I was simply afraid of what other people thought of me. And in the end I grasped that being myself is more important than trying to fit in.
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I really enjoyed ready your final essay and seeing how much you improved throughout your drafts. As I was reading, I was actually entertained the whole and didn't zone out like out like I usually do. You shared a really heartfelt message about not being ashamed who you are and your culture. The vivid details you included helped me really picture what you were talking about. It made me feel like I was in the one being made fun of. I also liked how you ended it by summing up what your overall message to the reader was.
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed reading your final draft because the story felt very personal and easy to picture. One part that stood out to me was when you described the other students reacting to your food and how embarrassed you felt. I also noticed that your final draft developed the lesson of the story more clearly. Instead of only focusing on the embarrassment at school, you showed how changing your food affected your friendships and how you eventually realized that you changed because of other people’s opinions, not because you disliked your mom’s cooking. I especially liked the conversation with your mom because it helped connect the experience to your bigger message about culture and being yourself. Your ending made the purpose of the story clear and showed how the experience changed the way you see yourself and your culture.
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