Boisterous voices and the clamor of silverware spring around the dining table. The smell of moist roast turkey is the centre of attention, and it was the centre of mine until I had my share at the desolated corner of the table. Seeing the familiar yet distant faces around me reminds me of how large my family is, spanning to third, fourth, and even fifth cousins who’ve already got jobs, married and are raising my of-all-ages nieces and nephews.
I don’t remember their names at all. It’s harsh. No one wants to waste their precious meal minutes on me, respond to my opinions on the flavours, or even use me to pass the gravy. I sure appreciate the overflowing love.
My mind went adrift midway. In every Thanksgiving, there will be leftovers on top of seconds taken home by family. Ruth’s share of
