Twenty minutes before class began my dad called: "What did you have for lunch?" "I'm eating now. Noodles with egg stew." "Now? Won't you be late for class?"

I gulped down the last noodle, put the bowl into the garbage bin outside the classroom building and said: "I'm there." Dad paused, he couldn't imagine how I did it.

I grew up in Inner Mongolia, where it's said people enjoy the most leisurely life. There are two reasons for this: the lack of pressure and the abundance of food. With no need to hurry, one can sit down to chew on delicacies at ease.

When I first arrived in Wuhan, I saw a notice on a bus: "Please don't knit sweaters or eat in the bus." I fully understood the potential hazards of knitting on a stop-and-go vehicle. But what's wrong with eating?

Soon, I discovered that almost every local eats the famous hot dry noodles with chopsticks on the way to school or work. It dawned to me that there is another way of life in this world. How pitiable, I thought.

But soon I had to choose the same way of life. At first, I was very embarrassed and held on to my bread, pie or steamed stuffed bun. I'd steal a glance at passers-by at each bite, lest some curious newcomers would be surprised by my poor manners.

Gradually, I became bolder and showed up on the street with bowls and chopsticks. The content in my bowl also became varied: fried rice, fried noodles, won tun soup, noodle soup, rib soup with kelp.

My skills are also getting better. In the past, if a friend called me on the road, I'd look up from the bowl surprised, unaware that a grain of rice was on my cheek. Today, I could spot an acquaintance long before he or she discovered me. I would have ample time to gather myself, smile and greet with grace and confidence.

Sometimes I'd run into a friend who is also eating. We'd nod, rub shoulders - and bowls - as we pass, as if we were ladies and gentlemen enjoying a cocktail party on a pleasant night.

A dancer once said, give me a pair of dancing shoes, the earth will be my stage. I'd say, give me a bowl and a pair of chopsticks, the world is my cafeteria.

One busy morning, as I glided on my way to school with breakfast, an electronic bike passed by. A primary schooler sat back to back with his father. He was eating noodles which he put on the small trunk on the back seat.

The boy glanced at me, took out a piece of tissue paper from the trunk and wiped his mouth with great composure. I was embarrassed at the lack of technology and imagination of my breakfast.

When I visited Hebei, the griddle cake sprinkled with sesame seeds looked very delicious. The waiter wrapped the cakes with paper and plastic bag, saying: "Don't worry, the oil won't leak." I smiled. With skills I learned in Wuhan, eating this is a piece of cake.

The story was first published on Sanlian Life Weekly

(China Daily 05/06/2008 page20)