这篇作文讲述了我和父母一家三口去外公家做客的经历，以及夹菜事件后的反思和感悟。我 Inner Sinquil, 我 Payed the Price. 虽然那次餐给我带来了许多快乐时光，但也让我深刻地体会到内心的伤痛。

Imagine a day when I was growing up: there were so many things that seemed like floating萍, leaving themselves to wander alone. But some things felt like tree roots, stuck firmly in my heart, year after year, year after another. Each time I felt this inner pain, I could feel it no matter how quiet the moment might seem.

The most telling part of that day was when I had a chance to look at the menu. It looked so perfect: red potatoes, green salad, sweet potato wedges, and my favorite red烧鱼. But just as I thought I'd have lunch, the bill came down to me. "Oh no!" I exclaimed. "That's one of those things that never gets written in a check." Without looking at the menu, I immediately grabbed my筷子. The fish was gone; it was on the table, stuck in between two pieces of red烧鱼。

I got up, threw my hands up, and started eating. The meal went awry quickly. My stomach hit hard, food particles flying all over the room like little bugs. By the time I finished eating, the restaurant was already closing. The friends were coming back, their faces expressionless as they watched me sipped on a cone of ice cream while others gave me a quick slap on the head for my irresponsible taste-taking.

In that moment, I realized how easy it could be to eat something that wasn't mine, even if I didn't want to. It had been three years since we'd spent so much time together. When my parents told me that they were going to have a birthday party the next day, I thought it was all good—just another happy occasion. But as days passed, and more friends came home from school, the reality started to hit hard. The adults who had been my teachers no longer believed in the value of small acts of kindness, which I felt they always taught us. Their abandonments left me empty-handed, and I couldn't help but wonder why I'd still keep this small moment so dear to me.

Now, each time I think about that meal, it's like I'm seeing a picture of myself inside my parents' house—only to be shattered by the chaos outside. It feels like I've been taught nothing more than how to manage the kitchen effectively, but my heart still feels like an unwrapped shell waiting for a teacher who would stop me in his tracks. Maybe it's time to let go and face that truth: sometimes, things are better left unspoken.