So I had shark’s fin soup last night.
I had it in October too.
Before that, I can’t remember the last time I had it.
I thought about leaving it on the table, but I’ve just joined the company and I didn’t really want to make a holier-than-thou statement at its anniversary banquet and my first end-of-year dinner.
Besides, it tastes good and I like the texture. I have to admit that much.
I seriously thought about not touching it, but if I did, wouldn’t the shark have died in vain? It’s been slaughtered and it’s been cooked. If I don’t eat it, they’d just dump it down the drain. To have been killed for nothing. Isn’t it sadder if I didn’t eat it? Eat it, then at least someone had appreciated its death.
Those were my exact thoughts as I put each spoonful in my mouth. It’s the justifications of someone who argues against her parents because they think “westerners” have no place dictating what the Chinese can or cannot eat.
Then I had flashbacks of The Cove and the blood and the dolphins wailing. (Have you seen it? You MUST.)
And then I looked at my little bowl of stringy broth. I felt a bit sick.
But look, I eat meat too ok? And pigs get slaughtered everyday.
Then again, it’s not like pigs are going extinct and ruin the ecosystem anytime soon are they?
I told myself that, next time, I’ll leave it on the table. I’m letting you know now just so you can hold me accountable.
(But really, what could you really do if I did? Just kidding. That’s the devil in me speaking.)