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Eleven years ago, there were many things around the house that I was
forbidden to touch. Whenever I asked the reason why, my mother would reply in
Cantonese, "This is for your safety." The objects in question were
dangerous, no doubt, in the hands of a five-year-old. The most important
items on the list was the kitchen knife, packs of Marlboro cigarettes with
the Camel lighter, matches, and The Box. I was able to reason with myself
about why I should not touch these items after my mother answered with her
usual quaint explanation. The first four caused pain, but what of the
fifth?
A circular tin box that I recall receiving from my neighbors across the
street a couple months back for either a Christmas or birthday gift. I
wondered why the cookie box was still in the house but more importantly why
it held potential risk. The label, Royal Dansk Danish Butter Cookies, held
no meaning for me. Needless to say that the nutrition facts printed beneath
the lid on the right side of the words was unknown to even exist. However,
the pictures of the delicious cookies featured on the top and sides were
definitely alluring.
Uniquely shaped, the first was circular and resembled an oatmeal cookie
without raisins. Linked next to it was a rectangular one that reminded me of
a loaf of bread but tasted much better. The middle cookie had ridges on the
sides, but I remember its donut shape allowed me to twirl it on my
fingers. Next to it was the image of my favorite, it was a mini pretzel that
always held the most crystallized sugar pieces, and thus brought happiness.
The last of the five cookies was oval, and sadly lacked the potential to
enter my mouth and therefore usually given to my parents.
Had I been deceived? For when I rattled the box before, the sound emitted
was not that of cookies stacked away in groups of threes with plastic cupcake
holders. On the contrary, it was more clanging and rattling than the familiar
bouncing cookies against the lid sound.
Fingering the tape stuck from the lid to its body, I tilted the box
and opened it, resulting in a shower of sharp sewing needles and pins on my
hand. Would you believe how loud I screamed when one of the pins pierced
through and dangled off my skin?
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