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What’s the Most Practical Gift for Mom? I Bought Her This Box of Shrimp… THREE TIMES Already (And I Regret Nothing)
I used to be the kind of girl who measured love by handbags.
Louis Vuitton? That’s a 6.
Chanel? We’re getting serious.
Hermès? Marry me.
But then I had a stroke at 29. Life slapped the label “disabled” on my forehead and said, “Surprise, bitch! Welcome to Level: Hobo.”
And just like that, the girl who used to cry over losing a diamond earring started sobbing over soggy broccoli. Because when you lose your health, your taste buds become your richest asset.
Now, I live by one truth:
You are what you eat.All the shiny, material stuff? Gone with the wind. But food? That shit becomes part of you.*Literally. Cell by cell. Molecule by molecule.
Every bite is reincarnation.
So when this box arrives, I nearly mistake it for an Apple product.
Vacuum-sealed like a secret government weapon.
The label screams:
Taiwan No-Toxin Shrimp
Raised in pristine seawater.
Fed with 12 types of probiotics.
Snap-frozen at ultra-low temp to trap the soul of the ocean.
I don’t know whether to cook it or bow to it. I tear it open like it owes me money. Inside? Snowy, elegant white prawns curled up like baby angels in cryosleep. Each one glistening with promise. 500g of pure, unadulterated crustacean glory. I wobble to the kitchen—stroke legs still unreliable, but dignity is long gone. I defrost them gently, whispering sweet nothings: “You’re not just dinner; you’re redemption.” Then, garlic. A WHOLE LOTTA garlic. I smash it like it’s my ex’s ego. A splash of Taiwanese rice wine (my mom’s stash, sorry, Ma). A sear in a sizzling wok—pssssshhhhhh! That aroma?Illegal in 47 countries. I plate them like I’m auditioning for a Michelin star. Then I wobble again, this time to the living room, carrying the sacred platter to the Queen herself—Mom. The woman who gave me life and now reminds me daily: “You look tired! You need to take care of yourself!” 🙃 She takes one bite. Her eyes widen. Her lips curl into a smile. And then comes the magic:
“MMMM~These shrimps are sweet!”
“They’re not fishy at all!”
“How are they so good?”
She’s smiling. Beaming.
That kind of joy? Priceless. Her smile, her delight, her satisfaction- these are the true measures of love and the real treasures in life. And that smile? It’s better than any Birkin I used to chase, a realization that marks my personal growth and understanding.
That smile? Better than any Birkin I used to chase.
I sit there, watching her slowly savour each piece like it’s the last shrimp on Earth. And for a moment, just one delicious, garlic-infused moment, I feel rich again. Not in cash, not in bags, but in something I never had back when I was vain and healthy:
Meaning.
So yeah.
For Mother’s Day, I won’t give her a scarf, a face cream, or some lame electronic foot massager. I’m giving her shrimp, not just as a meal but as a symbol of our journey, our resilience, and our shared love for good food. This shrimp, from Taiwan’s southern sea, probiotic-fed, snap-frozen, and hobo-approved, represents our shared passion for good food and our ability to find joy and richness in life, even when faced with challenges.
THE SHRIMP. From Taiwan’s southern sea, probiotic-fed, snap-frozen, hobo-approved. And I’ve already bought it THREE TIMES. No shame. No regrets. Just love, garlic breath, and a very, very happy mom. 🦐💕
A Deeper Story
There was a time when my mother, the radiant Leo scholar — fierce as the sun and elegant as silk — adored the world draped in gold and Gucci. Her closets whispered in French, her vanity glowed with Chanel, and I, the broke runaway turned reluctant adult, trembled every holiday like a squirrel with a half-eaten nut, wondering if a red envelope stuffed with love (but no cash) could ever measure up to Prada dreams. I was stingy, not by nature, but by necessity — tightfisted not with love, but with an empty wallet and a soul too proud to borrow. But then time did what time does- it aged us, softened us, stripped us bare of our glitter and gave us something no money could ever buy. Understanding. Laughter in our pyjamas. Tears over puzzle pieces. Coffee shared in silence. The sacred sound of “I love you” is unsaid but fully understood. Every occasion felt like a cruel exam I hadn’t studied for: Mother’s Day, her birthday, New Year’s… the pressure of pleasing a woman who had everything except the one thing I could never afford — her respect. Or so I thought. But then time did what time does — it aged us, softened us, stripped us bare of our glitter and gave us something no money could ever buy. Understanding. Laughter over a cup of shared instant noodles in our pyjamas. Tears over puzzle pieces. Coffee shared in silence. The sacred sound of “I love you” is unsaid but fully understood. Now, there are no more gift wars or guilt-fueled expectations. There is just my mom’s hand in mine, her voice in my storm, and her eyes reading these words. We are not the richest women in the world — not in gold, not in goods. But we are rich in grace. Rich in shared survival. And for once, I think we both know — We are the happiest people on Earth.
#Mother’sDayGift
