“When I was born, I was like a true angel—lying there peacefully, making no sound except for my breath, calm like a quiet sea. But once I reached toddlerhood, my true personality began to show—a stubborn spirit with a fiery temper. When I got angry, my face would turn bright red, and no one dared to provoke me.

All my siblings knew about my temper, and they loved to tease and trick me—especially at the dinner table. For them, it was a fun game. I would throw my China rice bowl to the ground, creating a loud crash, and they would all burst into laughter. Encouraged by their reactions, I did it again and again.

My mother, however, was far from amused. She not only felt sorry for the broken bowls but also grew increasingly frustrated with my behavior. Yet no punishment seemed to work. With so many children to care for, she was exhausted. Eventually, she bought me an iron rice bowl, thinking at least this one wouldn’t break.

My father, on the other hand, was deeply dissatisfied with her solution. He believed iron bowls were for beggars—not for his sweet girl. But he had no better alternative, so in silent protest, he went to the silver shop and bought me a pair of silver chopsticks.

From then on, I stopped breaking bowls—partly because I couldn’t, and partly because the fun had shifted. I spent a joyful childhood happily banging my silver chopsticks against my iron rice bowl.”