I wrapped more than ten Zongzi last night.
They were very plain, filled with just sticky rice and millet. The cover was 箬叶 which I collected on the previous trail I hiked, a special type of bamboo leaves.
I sent some pictures of these Zongzi to my friends, and they were surprised because most Chinese people of our generation, and even the generation before us don’t know how to wrap Zongzi.
Well, as I’ve mentioned here, I was raised by my great-grandmother. Although she didn’t read much, she taught me a lot of things in the form of games. Wrapping Zongzi was a tough one for me, even though I liked eating Zongzi very much. When my great-grandmother was alive, I always wrapped up a few ugly ones and then went to play.
On the first Dragon Boat Festival after my great-grandmother passed away, I was in my third year of junior high school. That year, no one wrapped Zongzi for me. One weekend, I noticed that the reed leaves in my family were going bad, and my parents didn’t seem to want to use them, so I gathered all the ingredients and made a whole pot of Zongzi.
When I was cooking the Zongzi, an older relative who had once bullied me lifted the pot cover, ate one without invitation, and even laughed at my imperfect Zongzi.
Why do I remember this so clearly?
Because in China, it is impolite to criticize older relatives. But the older generation in your family can defend you. After my great-grandmother left me, I had no defender anymore.
That’s why I wrap some Zongzi every year before the Dragon Boat Festival, to remember my great-grandmother and the warmth she once gave me.