Your calories give me strength,

So that my days fly by without lethargy.

But my American teachers and friends

Criticize how salty you are.

They say,

“Your bowl of rice hides the tears of the repressed!”

Whatever truth is there, 

I hear only Western disapproval.

Their words of assault target me as well. 

Someday,

In the East,

You might protest,

“I am not that salty!”

But how credible are you?

Nobody believes you.

At least,

Not the American voices I hear.

Having grown up with you,

I know your flaws.

But I cannot be trusted

In measuring your saltiness

Because my tools are calibrated

Under Western eyes.

Oh, fried rice!

I will always love you no matter how salty you are

Because my blood is filled with you.