Chopsticks. To me, they’re the origin of life. They’re a symbol of sustenance, of growth, of learning.
To me, they’re a connection to my past <parents and me at a table in the 90s>, a key to my present <serious connection with friends at a restaurant> and an open door to my future <my kids learning in a very clean, modern dining room>.
Chopsticks. To others, they’re a childish play thing <Chopsticks plays on piano>, they’re a ‘too difficult’ novelty, they’re a way to diminish a rich history and billions of people to a single stereotype.
To us, they’re a shared bond <Mathew pretending to know how to use them the first time we ate at a restaurant together>. They’re the support structure of intimate friendships <10 friends sharing hotpot around a coffee table in a tiny manhattan apartment>. To us, they’re knitting needles that are slowly weaving the fabric of our stories.
Chopsticks. They can’t draw <kid pretending to draw with chopstick>. They can’t build <using chopsticks as lego>. They can’t grow <trying to reach something high with chopstick>.
But what these two long bits of wood can do is enable us. Fuel us. Fuel our stories. Fuel our growth <fighting with parents>. They can connect us in ways that we couldn’t even envision <small smile while sharing a dumpling>. They can build relationships that we never planned to build.
These two simple utensils are the most powerful tool I can imagine. With them, I will change the world. Will you?
