The Family Institution: FOOD FIGHT

I can’t think of anything to write about except families. They are a metaphor for every other part of society.
Anna Quindlen
(1953 – )

I never remembered the last time I ended up dining in a restaurant and feeling like I belonged to the family I was born into. But this was different from those times of illusion where I had to keep appearances or else, this was dining in the company of friends. I didn’t have to pretend to enjoy something around these people at all. I was freed for at least one night, the mask stayed hidden within my own mind, waiting to be used, like it did a thousand times before. We dined like a family and joined together to exit as one just before N______, J_____, N___ and R____ left the building with myself in tow. I had a normal conversation with others who dreamed of this normality within their own families at home, but struggled to make it real, whatever the problems were. I never liked dining with my own family because of the hindrances that I could see in plain sight, the fake smiles and pleasantries, the faking of belonging as one whole group rather than a family group torn because of racial and religious differences and lifestyles and disagreements over what one family wants to eat because everything they see tastes the same to them. I wish my uncles and aunts can learn from my group of friends on how to act like a true family, without the rubbish the children have to deal with.

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