Crying Plate

I am a plate. My color is white. I was made by plastic. Several months ago, a woman got me dumped in the dumpster in a market. She separated me from other trashes and thought that I still could be used. Immediately I was washed and placed in a dish rack as soon as she arrived at home. Her kitchen was quite cramped and smoke smelled.

One day, she was cooking rice with firewood stove, when her child picked me from the dish rack.

"Mom, I want to use this new plate for lunch", said the child.

"Alright, help me to prepare the dishes in the living room", said the woman.

"Yes, Mom." the child immediately picked three plates including me, and two glasses.

Some minutes later, the woman came to the living room with a bowl of rice and a fried fish.

"Hani, Could you please call your father?"

"Yes, Mom.", the little girl went outside and walked toward the beach. It was only about 20 meters to find her father was sitting with other men. They were taking a rest after pulled some boats to the beach.

"Dad, the lunch is ready", said the little girl. Then they went back home together.

Mother divided the rice into three plates. The girl poured water into two glasses. One glass for father, one for her and her mother. No spoon or fork because they like to eat with hands. The only side dish for them is a fish. Father divided the fish into three slices. The tail part for mother, head part for father, and the belly meat for the daughter. I felt so pity on them.

I remembered the family who ever had me before this. That time I was placed in luxurious kitchen. They used to eat red rice with delicious and various meats and vegetables. They had some juice to drink and cakes as dessert. Their daughter loved to use me to placed her strawberry shortcake. What a wealthy family. That time I was very happy to be there until they dumped me just because I get etched accidentally by a knife.

Saw how the poor family where I live with now, I felt so sad. I was crying so the fish that eaten by the little girl became more salty by my tears.

"Mom, I think this plate is crying and make my fish more salty", said the little girl.

"It's funny, plate can not crying, Hani. Would you like to add ketchup?" said the mother.

"No, it's OK. Even this plate is crying, I still can enjoy it.", she was smiling and keep eating.

I stopped crying and smile. My heart was touched by their modesty life. I am not the crying plate anymore. Thank You, little Hani.