The other day, I had to throw the remainder of a pumpkin pie I made more than a week ago down the garbage disposal. All because my mom told me it was no good to eat. She didn’t want me to get sick but all the same, it really pained me to have to throw food away.

It really makes me angry when people throw away food. I used to be like that but not anymore. Some stories leave a mark. Shortly after we moved to Salt Lake City, we temporarily moved into my mom’s friend’s house. Her friend was a teacher, like my mom at the time. In fact, it was that friend that had recommended my mom to move here.

Anyway, one morning at breakfast, I am not sure how it happened but her friend was suddenly talking about her daughters throwing away perfect good food and how when she first immigrated to the U.S. from Hong Kong, she had to go through days and nights hungry. I thought it was slightly exaggerated at the time but all the same, lesson in progress. I still remember her words to this day.

“I would stand before the bakery window, smelling the delicious aroma of bread coming out of the oven. I had a dollar in my pocket. I thought about going in there to buy the bread but then I wouldn’t have enough money for the bus ride home. So I swallowed and convinced myself I have just ate.”

From that day on, I’ve always took enough food at dinner, never too much that I cannot finish it, and never buy anything I don’t like.

Then, I remember when my aunt and cousin first got here. My cousin would often complain about the chicken or the pork chop being underdone or the beef being overcooked. It pained me so much to hear my mom say “just throw it away.” There are so many times when I wanted to point out, “Do you know how many people are going hungry?” But I was too chicken to do it.

Once, my cousin was heading to the garbage can with a barely eaten chicken drumstick held between his chopsticks. My mom wasn’t home that night and I stopped him before he threw it into the bag. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“It’s not cooked enough.” He showed me how the tiny bit of blood is still running down the bone.

Sometimes, I have no clue how long to cook something especially with meats and apparently I didn’t cook the chicken long enough that night. “Just microwave it.”

He frowned disappointingly, reached for a clean bowl inside the dishwasher and dropped his drumstick in there, irritated. And then he almost threw the bowl into the microwave to cook it for a minute. He seemed pissed after that and I wanted to tell him. “You don’t get to be angry. I do because you’re wasting perfect edible food.” But I was afraid of getting punched in the face. Everyone’s bigger than me here.

I think part of my actions from that night stuck with him because after that, he asked every time before throwing food away and whenever something may be under-cook, he would always try microwaving it first. So I think it was a well-taught lesson.