My Rice Cooker

E, F♯, E, A, E, F♯, E, F♯, F♯, E, F♯, E, D, C♯, B, C♯, A

That was my sign that dinner was ready. Repeated one more time, this melody used to project from my rice cooker at least once a day for ten years. I could recognize it from any room of my house—over the roar of the neighbor’s lawnmower, the Doraemon blasting from the TV, and my mom’s audiobooks of Twilight (Chinese version, of course).

Then, it broke. 

A new rice cooker arrived at our door immediately. Sleek and dark—the complete opposite of our old one—it had a plethora of buttons that went beyond cooking rice. Despite the benefits of this new technology, though, this one couldn’t sing like the first. Without the original tune, my dinner routine became much more chaotic than what I was used to. My parents now called me downstairs, in which I’d yell back, “Huh?” several times to no avail. Even months after the new machine had arrived, I still couldn’t dissect its notes from the noise around me, nor could I stop myself from whistling the old one.

My experience has taught me about consistency—and not solely in the way this rice cooker has lived and breathed for 10 years. I hadn’t realized how valuable this appliance was to me until it was gone. It highlighted how routine and regularity are central to how I function. I bring that mindset to stay engaged with my heritage by calling my grandparents weekly, making time to watch the Chinese dramas piling up in my Notes, and collaborating with my amazing APP team throughout the school year. Consistency may not have a surprise factor, but—just like the melody I’ve heard for a decade—it never gets old.

The original song helps me navigate everyday life, but it also reveals how much rice and Asian food mean to my identity. Recently, I’ve been seeing Instagram reels saying, “When you’ve reached that point in your trip where you have to find Chinese food, or it’s game over”. I couldn’t tap the heart fast enough. Every trip, my family and I must visit a buffet at least once. In those moments, I savor every grain of rice to recreate some familiar sense of home. Yet when I am home, I can’t help pushing rice aside to try something else. It’s a love-hate relationship, but in the best way possible; I will gladly choose Italian or Thai after several consecutive days of rice, but that slightest moment of separation is what draws me back to wanting it again, over and over.

I still sing the OG-rice-cooker tune; it just so happens to be one of the catchiest melodies I’ve ever heard. And fortunately, our current rice cooker has stepped up its vocal skills. Rice has guided my life from the very beginning, and I’m excited to see how it will continue to do so in the future.