I believe in a nice bowl of ramen. Ramen is the only thing that I can cook, and it’s the only thing I will ever need to cook. Unlike the ostentatious presentation and plating that characterize it, ramen’s greatness doesn’t come from its appearance, but what’s inside. Ramen has gotten me through some tough times over the years. Whenever I was having trouble with something in my life, Ramen was there when I needed it most. Whenever there were important decisions to make, a bowl was there for me, to eat, and think deeply about the subject. During times of extreme stress and worry, I would put water in a pot, get it to a boil, and drop the noodles in. Watching the noodles become slack and soft was enough to make me forget my stress; it was as if the hard times dissipated as the noodles went lax in the bubbling water. One day, all the way back in 6th grade, my parents explained to me that the coming week would be an important one––one that would change my life forever. I was going to attend a different school, somewhere here.. Suddenly, my relatively fixed and familiar life was turned on its head, consigned to a realm of uncertainty. I felt lost and I really needed something to calm me down in order to think straight. Luckily, I had a secret stash of ramen that my mom didn’t know about, in the cupboard above the fridge. I found a few packages that had survived her recent purges, and I set about preparing a batch of my favorite, soul-soothing snack. As I ate the ramen, I was able to sit down and think about what was ahead of me. A new school, a different place, a different education, and a different world.
Ramen also has taught me many things throughout the many years that I've eaten it. Yes, it has taught me that I could gain weight at an unprecedented rate,and I probably shouldn’t it eat too much because then I would become fat which would never be good, but it also taught me things that I never would have guessed; it’s actually enabled me to understand the equation of life, the essence of it. This secret lies within the cooking process itself. When one first takes out the noodles from the package, you will notice how hard they are. If one was to eat it at this state, it wouldn’t be pleasing. However, once you are able to gather the ingredients, and get the water to boil, and to cook it, one will find that the noodles have gone soft, good to eat. With the sauce, you are able to create a better ramen. This is like life: although the initial conditions are not perfect, with some labor, a dash of expertise, and a pinch of knowhow, you are able to improve your lot. Let's assume for a moment that you are at a new school, you don’t have any friends, and being at school is awkward and, at the time, you’re thoroughly convinced that your life stinks. In that moment, life is hard, just like the uncooked noodles. The rules might seem rigid, strict, or unforgiving. (You see where I’m going with this, right?) But once you learn to live by the rules and abide by them, demonstrate a desire to live within them, and you’ll be forgiven the occasional misstep. That rigid world softens up a bit. Then, take a risk; put yourself out there; share something of yourself, and your new peers will do the same. Suddenly, you meet new people, have new experience. This would be like adding the flavor packet; the boiling water has become a broth. Whether you’re talking about a snack or a semester, now you’re cooking. It’s often said “chicken soup for the soul,” but for me, whether we’re talking about lunch or life, ramen has always been the right recipe. This I believe.
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